Secrets
by Yurixo
Summary: John Watson, a former Army Doctor, becomes flatmates with Sherlock Holmes and his daughter Ophelia Holmes. John could sense something dark about Sherlock past and wants to know who is Ophelia's mother. I do not own all the characters except Ophelia and Isabella. Sherlock X OC & John X Mary
1. First Meeting

In the psychotherapist office John sits in a chair that was opposite from his therapist who was holding a pen as if she was ready to write.

"John, you're a soldier, and it's going take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you," she explains to him.

John just gazes at her but his face full of despair, "Nothing happens to me."

In the park John is limping through the park, leaning heavily on his cane. As he walks past a large man sitting the bench he notice that man staring at him but ignores it until he hears someone calling out his name, "John! John Watson!"

John turns back to see the man standing up and hurries towards him, smiling."

"Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart's together," Mike reminds him.

John shook his head, "Yes, sorry, yes, Mike," he takes his offered hand and shakes it, "Hello… hi."

Mike smiles at him, "Yeah, I know. I got fat!"

John shook his head, "No."

"I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?"

John looks at him with confusion, "I got shot."

A little later they were holding a cup of coffee and are sitting side by side on a bench in the park.

"Couldn't Harry help?" Mike asked.

John snorts, "Yeah, like that's gonna happen!"

Mike shrugs, "I dunno – get a flatshare or something?"

John gives him a wide smile, "Come on, who'd want me for a flatmate?"

Mike chuckles while John looks at him with confusion.

"What?" John raised a brow.

Mike gives him a mysterious smile, "Well, you're the second person to say that to me today."

"Who was the first?"

Next thing John knew he found himself walking in one of the labs in St. Barts limping around the room, looking around at all the equipment. I spotted a mysterious dark man glancing at them.

"Well, bit different from my day."

Mike chuckles, "You've no idea!"

The mysterious man sits down and starts talking to Mike, "Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

Mike looks at him with confusion, "And what's wrong with the landline?"

"I prefer to text," the man uttered.

Mike shook his head, "Sorry, it's in my coat."

John fishes in his pocket and takes out his phone, "Er, here. Use mine."

The man looks surprised about the offer and gives him a small smile, "Oh. Thank you."

John glances briefly at Mike, who was standing up and walks towards John. Mike introduces him, "It's an old friend of mine, John Watson."

The mysterious man reaches John and takes his phone from him. Turning away from him, he flips open the keypad and starts to type on it, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John frowns while Mike smiles knowingly. John looks at Sherlock with confusion, "Sorry?"

"Which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John hesitates, and then looks across to Mike, confused, "Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know…?

Before John could finish a young women walks into the room with a cup of coffee in her hands and hands it to the mysterious man.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you," He hands back John's phone as he looks closely at her as he takes the mug.

"What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly smiles awkwardly at him, "It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," said the mysterious man as he turns and walks back to his station, taking a sip from the mug and grimacing at the taste.

"Oh… okay," said Molly looking disappointed and turns and heads back towards the door.

"How do you feel about the violin?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

The man starts typing on a laptop keyboard, "I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you?"

Before John could open his mouth to speak the man interrupts him, "Do you mind having a five year old around the place? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other."

He throws a fake smile at John who was looking at him blankly then looks across to Mike, "Oh you… you told him about me?"

Mike shook his head, "Not a word."

John turns to Sherlock, "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

The man picks up his black coat and puts it on, "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?"

The man ignores the question, wraps his blue scarf around his neck and took out his phone to check it, "Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it."

"We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

"Is that it?" John raised a brow.

"Is that what?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

The man looks at him with confusion, "Problem?"

John smiles in disbelief, "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

The man looks closely at him for a moment before speaking, "I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" He turns and walks to the door again, opening it and going through but leans back into the room, "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. He gives John a wink then looks at Mike, "Afternoon."

Mike raises a finger in farewell then looks at John and smiles at him, "He's always like that."

The next day, John limps along the road and reaches the door marked 221B. He knocks on the door as Sherlock gets out of the black cab.

"Hello," Sherlock greeted.

John turns around, "Ah, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock smirk, "Sherlock, please."

The both shake hands.

John saw a face of a little girl next to Sherlock, when the girl notice he saw her she jerks and hides behind Sherlock.

"Problem Doctor Watson?" Sherlock raised a brow.

John points at the empty sidewalk, "A girl… there was a little girl behind you."

Sherlock steps away and looks at the little girl, "Oh, you mean her?"

The girl looks at John with shyness but also with curiosity. She was short but also thin. She had curly black hair, chocolate brown eyes, her skin was pale, and she was wearing a pink blouse underneath a Levi jacket and was also wearing a Levi skirt.

"John, this is my daughter Ophelia."

John looks at Sherlock with disbelief; he didn't think that Sherlock was a father figure type, but then again you can't judge a book by its cover. He looks down and smiles at the little girl, "Hello."

The girl smiles at him shyly, "Hello."

John looks up at the flat, "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."

"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favor. A few years back, her husband got himself sentence to death in Florida. I was able to help out.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

Sherlock smirks, "Oh no. I ensured it."

Ophelia giggles as the front door is opened by Mrs. Hudson, who opens her arms to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, hello."

Sherlock turns and walks into her arms hugging her briefly, and then steps back to have Mrs. Hudson look at Ophelia.

"My dear Ophelia!" said Mrs. Hudson as she knelt down and hug the little girl.

"You've grown the last time I saw you."

"I've grown 4 inches," said the little girl as she held out four of her fingers.

"You've grown 3 and half inches Ophelia," Sherlock reminds her.

Ophelia glares up at him, "But I'm still growing!"

Mrs. Hudson chuckles, "Yes you are, and you've become beautiful."

"Mrs. Hudson, Doctor John Watson," said Sherlock as he introduce the awkwardly doctor to Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello."

"How do?"

Mrs. Hudson gets up and gestures John inside, "Come in."

"Thank you."

"Shall we?" asked Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson nods her head, "Yeah."

John, Sherlock, and Ophelia go inside as Mrs. Hudson closes the door.

"Daddy, I'm tired!" Ophelia complains.

"Ophelia, you just got out of a taxi."

Ophelia raise both of arms, "Carry me!"

Sherlock roll his eyes and carry the little girl on his arm, "Last time," he warns her as Ophelia nods her head with excitement. Sherlock trots up the stairs to the first floor, then pauses and waits for John to hobble upstairs.

"Hurry up John!" Ophelia yells at him.

"I would if I could," John panted.

As John reaches the top of the stairs, Sherlock opens the door ahead of him and walks in, revealing the living room of the flat. John follows him in and looks around the room and at all the possessions and boxes scattered around it.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed."

Sherlock place Ophelia down, "Yes. Yes, I think so. My thought precisely."

He looks around the flat happily, "So we went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out… oh."

John paused as he realized what Sherlock was saying."

"This is not rubbish," Ophelia raised her voice.

"I didn't mean that… So this is all …"

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit," said Sherlock as he walks across the room picking up some pieces of paper and stabs it with a tool knife on the mantelpiece. John notices something else and uses his cane to point it, "That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say friend…"

John could feel someone poking his legs and look down to see what was poking him. There was Ophelia who gesturing him to put his ears close to hers. He knelt down a little bit as she cover his ears with her hands and starts whispering at his ear, "I call him Billy."

John chuckles, "Really?"

Ophelia nods her head and left to pick up some toys from the ground.

Mrs. Hudson followed them in the room and picks up a cup and saucer as Sherlock takes off his coat and scarf.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

John looks at her with confusion, "Of course we'll need two."

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs. Turner next door's got married one," she whispers.

"Do I have share bedroom with daddy?" Ophelia asked.

"No, you'll still be using your bedroom except John will be next door," Sherlock informs her.

"Don't you think you should get the bedroom next to your daughter?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugs, "I don't see a problem really John."

Mrs. Hudson walks across to the kitchen, then turns back and frowns at Sherlock, "Oh Sherlock. The mess you've made. She goes into the kitchen and starts tidying up, John walks over to one of the two armchairs, plumps up a cushion on the chair and then drops heavily down into it.

"Are you solider John?" asked Ophelia as she cuddles her worn out teddy bear.

John nods his head, "I am, and I bet your father told you that."

Ophelia shook her head, "He didn't."

John raised a brow, "He didn't?"

Ophelia nods her head and went back playing with her teddy bear.

"Does it have a name?" John points at the teddy bear.

Ophelia nods her head, "He's name is Hamlet."

John raised a brow but nods at the same time, "Good name…"

Ophelia smiles at him, "Thank you."

"I looked you up on the internet last night," said John as Sherlock walks pass him.

Sherlock turns around, "Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."

Sherlock smiles at him proudly, "What do you think?"

John frowns at him while Sherlock looks hurt.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb, John points out.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."

John raised a brow, "How?"

Sherlock smiles and turns away. Mrs. Hudson comes out of the kitchen reading the newspaper, "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street, three exactly the same."

"Four," said Sherlock as he looks down at a car that just pull up and saw an older gentleman walking out of the car.

"Fourth?" Ophelia asks.

Sherlock nods his head, "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

Sherlock turns as D.I. Lestrade trots up the stairs and comes into the living room.

"Hi Uncle Lestrade!" Ophelia greets him.

Lestrade gives her a quick smile, "Hello Ophelia, how are you dear?"

"Where?" Sherlock interrupts them.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different," Sherlock informs him.

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?" asked Lestrade as if he was hoping Sherlock will say yes.

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson."

Sherlock roll his eyes, "Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant."

"I need an assistant," Sherlock hissed.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."

"Thank you," said Lestrade as he waves at little Ophelia and hurries off down the stairs. Sherlock then leaps into the air and clench his fists with joy and stars spinning around the room happily, "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!"

"It is?" Ophelia asked with excitement.

"No," said John and Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock picks up his scarf and coat he starts to put them on as he heads for the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hudson, I'll be late. Might need to take care of Ophelia and need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper or babysitter."

"Something cold will do. John and Ophelia have a cup of tea, make yourselves at home. Don't wait up!"

Said Sherlock as he disappears from view.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head with disbelief, "Look at him, dashing about! My husband was just the same, but you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll make you the cuppa. You rest your leg."

"Damn my leg!" John yells loudly which made both Mrs. Hudson and Ophelia jump.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" he bashes his leg with his cane.

"I understand, dear; I've got a hip."

"Cup of tea'd be lovely, thank you."

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper."

"And some biscuits!" Ophelia adds.

John nods his head, "Couple of biscuits too, if you've got 'em."

"Not your housekeeper or babysitter!"

John has picked up the newspaper which Mrs. Hudson put them and starts reading about suicide. Before he could finish reading Sherlock interrupts him, "You're a doctor. In fact you're an Army doctor."

John nods his head and gets to his feet, "Yes."

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot of injuries, then; violent deaths."

"Mmm, yes."

"Bit of trouble too, I bet."

"Of course, yes. Enough for a lifetime. Far too much," John said quietly.

"Wanna see some more?"

"Oh God, yes," John says fervently.

Sherlock spins on his heel and leads John out of the room.

"Can I come?" Ophelia yells for them.

"No,"

"Yes," both Sherlock and John respond.

John looks at Sherlock with disbelief, "You're kidding right? She's what three or four… I don't know where you're taking me but the way you make it sound it I don't think she should come."

"I'm only 5!" Ophelia raise her voice as she cross her arms on her chest.

"John, Ophelia has been with me for three years. She knows what to expect. Put on your coat Ophelia!"

Ophelia jumps with excitement and grabs her leather jacket that was on the couch and puts it on.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson, Ophelia and I will skip the tea. Off out."

"All three of you?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock turns and walks toward Mrs. Hudson, "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" said Sherlock as he kisses her cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent or good for Ophelia," Mrs. Hudson gives him a weak mile.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"


	2. Who are you?

The boys and Ophelia sit in silence for a long time while Sherlock sits with his eyes fixed on his smartphone and John keeps stealing nervous glances at him and Ophelia who is sitting between them looks at both of them waiting for one of them to speak. Finally Sherlock lowers his phone.

"Okay, you've got questions."

John gave him a quick nod, "Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?" John raised a brow.

Ophelia looks up at him and smiles, "What do you think?"

John starts to hesitate, "I'd say private detective ..."

"But?"

"... but the police don't go to private detectives," John points out.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job," said Sherlock with pride.

John looks at him with confusion, "What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me," he explains.

"The police don't consult amateurs."

Both Sherlock and Ophelia throws him a look which made John feel uncomfortable.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room, said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq."

"Okay than how did your daughter knew I was a soldier? She said you didn't tell her."

Sherlock nods his head, "She's right I haven't told her, I was testing her to see if she was doing her deductions right."

"I could tell you were soldier by your cane," said Ophelia as she smiles up at him.

"A lot of people who are not soldier carry a cane," John points out.

"You walk strong with a stern face," she points out.

"You said I had a therapist," John looks at Sherlock.

Sherlock roll his eyes, "You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock holds out his hand out, "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then."

John hands his phone to Sherlock as he turns it over and looks at it again as he talks, "Scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

The thing John knew Sherlock was pretties much talk about things he knew about John and they only met for a day. John sits there with amazement and finally says, "That ... was amazing."

Sherlock looks round, apparently so surprised that he can't even reply, "Do you think so?"

John looks at him with disbelief, "Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?"

Ophelia looks at John, "Piss off!"

Sherlock smiles briefly at John, who grins and turns away to look out of the window as the journey continue.

The cab has arrived at Lauriston Gardens and Sherlock, Ophelia, and John get out and walk towards the police tape strung across the road, "Did I get anything wrong?"

"Harry and me don't get on, never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

Sherlock smiles "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet," John adds.

Sherlock stops dead in his tracks, "Harry's your sister."

Both John and Ophelia walk pass him, "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!" Sherlock hissed.

John looks down at Ophelia as he points at Sherlock, "Is he always like that?"

Ophelia nods her head, "Yeah."

"And he's your biological father?" John raised a brow.

Ophelia nods her head again.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?" John raised his voice at Sherlock.

Sherlock walks towards them, "There's always something."

They approach the police tape where they are met by Sergeant Donovan, "Hello Freak."

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Why?"

"We were invited," Sherlock sigh.

"Why?"

"I think he wants me to take a look," Sherlock said sarcastically.

Donovan rolls her eyes, "Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

Sherlock lifts the tape and ducks underneath it, "Always, Sally. I even know you didn't make it home last night," said Sherlock as he breathes in through his nose.

"You brought her again?" asked Donovan as she points at Ophelia.

"Well I can't leave her alone can I?"

"How many times do we have to tell you? You can't bring a little child to a crime scene," Donovan snaps at him.

"I'm not little!" Ophelia snaps at her.

Donovan ignores her and looks at John, "Who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson. Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

Donovan looks at Sherlock with disbelief and scoffs, "A colleague? How do you get a colleague?!"

Donovan turns to John, "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."

Ophelia grab his hand, "No,"

Sherlock lifts the tape for him as John walks under the tape, Donovan lifts a radio to her mouth,"Freak and his daughter is here. Bringing them in."

She leads the boys and Ophelia towards the house. Sherlock looks all around the area and at the ground as they approach. As they reach the pavement, a man dressed in a coverall comes out of the house.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."

Anderson looks at him with distaste, "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Sherlock takes another deep breathe through his nose, "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

Anderson rolls his eyes, "Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

Anderson looks at him with confusion, "My deodorant?"

"It's for men," said Sherlock with a quirky expression his face.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"

"So is Sergeant Donovan."

Anderson looks round in shock at Donovan. Sherlock sniffs pointedly, "Ophelia I'm pretty sure you smelled it when we walked in." Sherlock looks down at Ophelia.

Ophelia nods her head, "Yeah."

"Ooh, and I think it just vaporized. May I go in?"

Anderson turns back and points at him angrily, "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."

Sherlock shook his head, "I'm not implying anything. I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over. And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

Anderson and Donovan stare at him in horror. He smiles smugly, then turns and goes into the house. John walks past Donovan, briefly but pointedly looking down to her knees, then follows Sherlock inside.

Ophelia looks at John with confusion, "What did he mean by the state of her knees?"

John looks at her with embarrassment, "You're too young to know about it."

Ophelia pouts, "I'm not young."

John chuckles, "Ophelia, when you become my age you want to stay young forever."

Sherlock leads them into a room on the ground floor where Lestrade is putting on a coverall. Sherlock points to a pile of similar items.

Sherlock turns to John, "You need to wear one of these."

Lestrade looks at John, "Who's this?"

"He's with me," said Sherlock as he takes off his gloves.

"But who is he?"

"I said he's with me," Sherlock hissed.

John looks down to see Ophelia who was struggling to put on the latex gloves, "Daddy, help me!"

Sherlock roll his eyes, "Ophelia, you don't have to wear one."

Ophelia glares at him, "I want to!"

Sherlock kneels down to the floor and helps Ophelia to put on the latex gloves, "You're five years old you should know how to put this on," he uttered with annoyance.

John could tell Ophelia was hurt by Sherlock comment but tries to pull a strong face.

"Sherlock, she's just a kid give her a break," said Lestrade as he pats Ophelia's shoulder.

"She's my daughter Lestrade you don't need to tell me what to do," Sherlock mutters.

Before Lestrade could argue Sherlock gets up from the ground, "So where are we?"

Lestrade picks up another pair of latex gloves, "Upstairs."


	3. Pink!

_It was a beautiful afternoon as Sherlock rests his head on the tree and he reads his book silently. He glance away quickly when he heard footsteps coming towards him. The was a woman standing right in front of him, she had heavy eye makeup, red rosy lips, and her silky black hair was loosely curled, and was wearing a black dress._

_"May I join you?" she asked as she sat next to him._

_"Whatever," Sherlock utters and went back reading his book._

_"Do you have a cigarette?" she asked as she rest her head on the tree._

_"I don't smoke"_

_The woman smirks, "Don't you dare lie to me I can see the pack of cigarettes in your pocket."_

_Sherlock sigh heavily, took out the pack of cigarettes and hands it to her, "Here, happy now?"_

_She took the pack of cigarettes away from him and took out a cigarette, "Thanks… want one?"_

_"Sure."_

_The woman hands him a cigarette. He puts the cigarette between his lips as the woman lights it for him._

_"Thanks," said Sherlock as he huffs out some smoke._

_"No big deal, "said the woman as she stare the light blue sky dreamily._

_"You have the money to buy your own cigarettes, why do you intend to get a cigarette from a stranger?" Sherlock asks as he quickly glances at the woman._

_The woman shrugs, "Why should I waste my money on it?"_

_"Because, you already have."_

_The woman raised a brow, "Oh, so you think you know me?"_

_Sherlock looks at her, "You're from France, grew up from a wealthy family, but your family disowned you because they didn't like the choice you've made, and you are now starting a new life here in London. You still have the money from your family, but waste it on cigarettes and drugs."_

_The woman stares at him silently for a couple minutes, she then give him a weak smile and claps her hand, "Bravo."_

_Sherlock looks at her surprisingly, "I got everything right?"_

_The woman nods, "Yep, everything you said is true."_

_Sherlock smirks, "Well that's the first."_

_The woman grabs his shoulder, and lean him down so he could look at her chocolate brown eyes, "Now, it's my turn sweetheart. You grew up in London your entire life; you're also from a wealthy. You go to school here but honestly you don't want to be here in the first place, but you were force to. You're father left you when you were young boy, but you have a brother that acts as if he's the man of the house. You've been hated by others for knowing their life without even knowing them."_

_Sherlock looks at her with amazement never has he met someone that was brilliant as he, he took out his cigarette slowly and huff out some smoke, "Impressive."_

_The woman smirks; "Now, what's your name handsome?" as she sat on his laps and wrap her arms around his neck._

_Sherlock gave her a weak smile, "Sherlock Holmes."_

_"What a lovely name," said the woman as she leans close to him._

_"And yours?"_

_"Isabella Beaulieu," she whispers to his ears. _

_"Isabella, what a beautiful name," he whispers. _

_Isabella leans close and press her lips onto his._

Lestrade leads the boys and Ophelia up a circular staircase. Lestrade, John, and Ophelia are wearing coveralls together with white cotton coverings over their shoes, and latex gloves. Sherlock is putting latex gloves on as they go up the stairs.

"I can give you two minutes," Lestrade warns him.

"May need longer," Sherlock said calmly.

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards. We're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her," Lestrade informs him.

He leads them into a room two stories above the ground floor. The room is empty except for a women's body is lying face down on the bare floorboard in the middle of the room. She is wearing a pink overcoat and high-heeled shoes. Her hands are flat on the floor either side of her head. Sherlock walks a few steps into the room and then stops, holding one hand out in front of himself as he focuses on the corpse. Behind him, John looks at Ophelia who was looking at her dad with amazement.

"Aren't you scared?"

Ophelia looks at him with confusion, "Why?"

John shrugs, "There's a dead body in front of you."

"I see dead people all the time," Ophelia informs him.

"Oh, okay…" John says awkwardly and stood there silently."

Sherlock stands and the four of them stood there silently for several long seconds then Sherlock looks across to Lestrade, "Shut up."

Lestrade startled, "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking. It's annoying."

Lestrade and John exchange a surprised look as Sherlock steps slowly forward until he reaches the side of the corpse.

"Dad, can read people's mind," Ophelia whispers to them.

John raises a brow, "Really?"

Ophelia nods, "I think he's an alien."

John and Lestrade both chuckled, "I've always thought so."

"Ophelia, if you want to be helpful shut up!" Sherlock snaps at her.

Ophelia close her mouth and her little pink lips starts to tremble as if she was ready to cry. Lestrade wrap his arms around her shoulder and let her head rest on his stomach, "It's okay Ophelia, you've been a great help."

But Ophelia didn't say anything, she continues to look at her father with a hurtful expression and stood there silently.

"Got anything?" Lestrade looks at Sherlock.

"Not much," said Sherlock as he gets his cell phone from his pocket and begins typing on it.

"She's German," said Anderson who is leaning casually against the doorway, "Rache: it's German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something…" Sherlock walked quickly towards the door and now beings to close it in Anderson's face, "Yes, thank you for your input."

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town, though. Intended to stay in London for one night before returning home to Cardiff," said Sherlock as she smiles smugly as he looks at his phone.

"So far, so obvious."

"Sorry obvious?" John raised a brow.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock ignores him and looks at John, "Doctor Watson, what do you think?"

"Of the message?"

"Of the body. You're a medical man."

Lestrade raised his hand to stop him, "Wait, no we have a whole team right outside."

"They won't work with me."

"I'm breaking every rule letting you and Ophelia in here," Lestrade informs him.

"Yes… because you need me," Sherlock whispers.

Lestrade stares at him for a moment then sigh, "Yes, I do God help me."

"Ophelia, I want you to leave the room," Sherlock demands.

Ophelia frowns, "I want to stay!"

"Ophelia, out," Sherlock hissed at her.

Ophelia glares at him and quickly walks out of the room and sits on the stairs.

"What's with you today?" Lestrade raised his voice at Sherlock.

"She's distracting me," he explains.

"Then why did you bring her in the first place?"

Sherlock ignores him and looks at John, "Doctor Watson."

"Hm?"

He looks up from the body to Sherlock and turns his head towards Lestrade.

"Oh, do as he says. Help yourself."

Lestrade turns and opens the door, "Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes."

Sherlock and John walk over to the body. Sherlock squats down on one side of it and John lowers himself to one knew on the other side.

"Well?" Sherlock raised a brow.

"What am I doing here?" John asked softly.

"Helping me make a point," Sherlock replied softly.

"I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent."

"Yeah, well, this more fun."

"Fun? There's a woman lying dead," John reminds him.

"Perfectly sound anazlysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper."

Lestrade comes back in the room and stands just inside the doorway. John leans forward to look more closely at the woman's body. He puts his head close to her and sniffs, then lifts her right hand and looks at the skin, "Yeah… Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. It could have been a seizure; possibly drugs."

"You know what it was. You've read the papers."

"What, she's one of the suicides? The fourth…?"

"Daddy, can I come in now?" said Ophelia as she stood on the doorway.

"If you promise to be quiet," Sherlock warns her.

Ophelia nods and runs next to John.

"Are you okay?" asked John as Ophelia snuggles on his arms. Ophelia gave him a quick nod and looks at the dead body.

"Sherlock – two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."

"Victim is in her late thirties. Professional person, going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase."

Lestrade looks at him with confusion, "Suitcase?"

"Umm… daddy."

"Not now Ophelia, Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."

"Oh, for Goodness sake, if you're just making this up."

Sherlock points at the corpse's left hand, "Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who does she remove her rings for? Clearly not one lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

"Cardiff?"

Sherlock shrugs, "It's obvious, isn't it?"

John shook his head, "It's not obvious to me."

Sherlock pauses as he looks at the two, "Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring. Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's dry and unused: not just wind, strong wind – too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" Sherlock gets his phone from his pocket and shows to the other two the weather report, "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" John exclaimed.

"You know you do that out loud John?" Ophelia looks up at him.

"Sorry. I'll shut up."

"No, it's… fine," Shelrock hesitated.

"What d'you keep saying suitcase?"

Sherlock spins around the room, "Yes, where is it?"

"Umm… daddy."

"Not now Ophelia. She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is," Sherlock demands.

"She was writing Rachel?"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be," Sherlock said sarcastically, "Question is why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"

"How d'you know she had a suitcase?"

Sherlock points at Ophelia, "Ophelia, do you mind?"

Ophelia nods her head with excitement, "She has a tiny splash mark on her right leg but not on her left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her right."

Sherlock nods his head and squats down by the woman's body, "Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"

"Daddy, there is no case."

Slowly Sherlock raises his head and frowns up at Ophelia.

"I was outside and there was no suitcase," Ophelia informs him.

Lestrade nods, "There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

Sherlock straightens up and heads for the door yelling, "Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"

Lestrade and John follow him out and stops on the landing, while Ophelia stood next to her father.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade calls down.

"But they take te poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pllsthemselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them.

"Right, yeah, thanks! And…?

"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings… serial killings." He holds his hands up in front of his face in joy, "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I love those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" Lestrade yells at him.

"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car."

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there," John suggests.

Sherlock looks up at him, "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking ..." Sherlock trails off and realized what just happened.

"Oh. Oh!" his eyes widen and his face lights up.

"Sherlock?

"What is it, what?"

"What daddy?"

"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake," said Sherlock cheerfully.

"We can't just wait!"

"Oh, we're done waiting! Look at her, really look! Houston, we have a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!"

Sherlock and Ophelia reaches the bottom of the stairs and disappears from view.

"Of course, yeah but what mistake?" Lestrade calls after him.

Sherlock and Ophelia comes back and runs up a couple of stairs and yells ,"PINK!" and the two disappear from sight.


	4. Choose Sides

Not long afterwards, John is walking down a road cursing himself for following Sherlock and Ophelia in the first place. When he walked out of the crime scene he was told that Sherlock and Ophelia already left without him. He was getting tired and hails a passing taxi.

"Taxi!"

The taxi passes him by. John walks on down the road and shortly afterwards approaches a public telephone box. The phone inside starts to ring. Puzzled by this, he pulls open the door, goes inside and lifts the phone.

"Hello?"

"There is a security camera on the building to your left. Do you see it?" said a man voice.

John frowns, "Who's this? Who's speaking?"

"Do you see the camera Doctor Watson?"

John looks through the window and sees a CCTV camera high up on the wall of a nearby building.

"Yeah, I see it," he replied calmly.

The camera, which was pointing directly at the phone box, now turns away.

"How are you doing this?" John asked nervously.

"Get into the car, Doctor Watson."

A black car pulls up at the curbside near the phone. The male driver gets out and opens the rear door.

"I would make some sort of threat, but I'm sure your situation is quite clear to you." The phone goes dead. John puts the phone deciding whether he should get in the car or not. He opens the phone box and goes into the car. A few moments later he is sitting in the back seat of the car as it pulls away and drives off. An attractive young woman is sitting beside him, her eyes fixed on her phone as she types on it.

"Hello," he greeted her.

"Hi," smiling brightly at him for a moment before returning her gaze to her phone.

"What's your name, then?"

"Er… Anthea."

John raised a brow, "Is that your real name?"

Anthea looks up at him and smiles, "No."

John nods, and then turns to look out of the window briefly before turning back again.

"I'm John," he introduce himself.

Anthea nods her without glancing up at him, "Yes, I know."

"Any point in asking where I'm going?"

Anthea shook her head, "None at all."

She turns and smiles briefly at him, then looks back at her phone again, "John."

John nods his head, "Okay." Sometime later, the car pulls into an abandon warehouse. A man in a suit is standing in the center of the area, leaning casually on an umbrella as he watches the car stop and John get out. The man offers him a chair to sit, but John refuse and stood there like a brave soldier.

"If you do move into, um ... two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way," said the man as he looks through the notebook that was owned by John's therapist.

"Why?"

"Because you're not wealthy," the man explains to him.

"In exchange for what?" John raised a brow.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel ... uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he and Ophelia are up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about them. Constantly."

"That's nice of you," John said sarcastically.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult," the man explains as he plays with his umbrella.

John's phone sounds another text alert. Again he immediately fishes the phone out and looks at the message which reads:

**Baker Street.**

**Come at once**

**If convenient.**

**If inconvenient, come anyway.**

**SH**

"No," John replies.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

John shook his head, "Don't bother."

"You're very loyal, very quickly," the man gave him a mysterious smile.

"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested."

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?" John frowns at him.

"Tell me Doctor Watson has he told you about Ophelia's mother?"

John looks at him with confusion, "Has he mentioned anything about Ophelia's mother?" the man repeated the question.

"No, he hasn't… which I am fine with since it's none of my business."

The man smirks, "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen."

John very reluctantly lowers his hand, holding it out flat with the palm down. The man takes it in both of his own hands and looks at it closely, "Remarkable."

"What is?"

The man walks away, "Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand," the man points out."

John nods his head.

"Your therapist thinks its post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service. You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson ... you miss it."

The man leans closer to him. Reluctantly John's eyes rise up to meet him.

"Welcome back," the man whispers and starts to walk away as John's voice went off.

The man casually twirls his umbrella as he goes, "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson."

…

When John walks into the flat the first thing he saw was Sherlock laying on the couch breathing heavily as he repeatedly clenches his left fist.

John looks at him with confusion, "What are you doing?"

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think." Sherlock said calmly.

"Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work."

John walks further into the room, "It's good news for breathing."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Oh, breathing. Breathing's boring."

John frowns as he looks more closely at Sherlock's arm, "Is that three patches?"

"It's a three-patch problem," said Sherlock as he presses his hands together in a prayer position under his chin.

"Where's Ophelia?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugs, "Somewhere in the flat."

"I'm here John!" John hears Ophelia's voice from behind. He turns around and saw Ophelia sitting on one of the armchair as she watches a TV show in mute.

John went up to her, "What are you watching?"

"Criminal minds," she replies calmly.

"You know you're five years old right?" said John as he looks down at her.

Ophelia shrugs, "So?"

"Most five years old watch something happy and colorful… not a show that shows dead people," he explains.

"But that's boring!" she complains.

John shook his head with disappointment, "Go back to your show!"

He walks toward Sherlock who was still lying on the couch with his eyes close.

"Well? You asked me to come. I'm assuming it's important."

Sherlock doesn't respond instantly, but his eyes snap open but do not bother to turn his head to look at John, "Oh year, of course. Can I borrow your phone?"

John raised a brow, "My phone?"

"Don't wanna use mine. Always a chance that the number will be recognized. It's on the website," he explains.

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone."

"Yeah, she downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear.

"I was the other side of London!" John raised his voice.

"There was no hurry," he said mildly.

John glares at him as he gazes serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. John digs his phone out of his pocket and holds it towards him, "Here."

Without opening his eyes, Sherlock holds out his right hand with the palm up. Jonn steps forward and slaps the phone into his hand. Sherlock slowly litfs his arm and puts his hands together again. John turns and walks a few paces away before turning around again, "So what's this about – the case?"

"Her case," Sherlock whispers.

"Her case?"

"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it."Sherlock holds the phone out towards John.

"On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text."

John half-smiles in angry disbelief, "You brought me here… to send a text."

"Text, yes. The number on my desk," Sherlock raised his voice.

"You know you could of let Ophelia do it," John reminds him,

Sherlock shook his head, "She doesn't know how to text."

"I bet she does, you're just not letting her."

John walks toward the window and starts to look out.

"What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours."

Sherlock frowns in confusion, "A friend?"

"An enemy," John corrects himself.

Sherlock sigh with relief, "Oh. Which one?"

"Your arch-enemy, according to him," he explains, "Do people have arch-enemies?"

Sherlock looks towards him, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, "Did he offer you money to spy on me?"

"Yes."

"Did you take it?"

John shook his head, "No."

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time."

"Who is he?"

"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now," he said softly, "On my desk, the number!"

John gives him a dark look but Sherlock has already look but Sherlock ignores him, so John walks over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper taken from a luggage label. He looks at the name on the paper, "Jennifer Wilson, That was… hang on wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes, that's not important. Just enter the number."

"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number," Sherlock demand.

Shaking his head, John gets his phone out and starts to type the number onto it.

"Are you doing it?"

"Yes,"

"Have you done it?"

"Ye… hang on!" John yells at him.

"These words exactly: "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.""

John starts to type but looks briefly across to Sherlock as if concerned at what he just said. Sherlock continues, "Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come."

John frowns at Sherlock, "You blacked out?"

"What? No. No!" Sherlock yells as he got up from the couch and starts walking towards John.

"Type and Send it. Quickly! Ophelia, bring it to the living room."

"But I'm in a best part!" Ophelia complains.

"Ophelia…" he gave her a warning.

Ophelia starts to wine, turn off the tv, and went into the kitchen.

"Do you always treat her like that?" John asked without glancing at her.

"Problem Doctor Watson?" Sherlock raised a brow.

"Can't you see you're hurting her feelings? She's doing everything she can to impress you and all you do is bring her down!" John scowls him.

Sherlock narrow his eyes at him, "I appreciate your concern Doctor Watson, but how I raise my daughter is my business not yours."

Before John could argue more Ophelia walks into the living room as she drags in a small pink suitcase with her. She set it down the floor and starts to unzip it.

"That's ... that's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case."

Sherlock looks at the suitcase closely, "Yes, obviously."

As John continues to stare, Sherlock looks up at him and then rolls his eyes, "Oh, perhaps I should mention: I didn't kill her."

"I never said you did."

Sherlock shrugs, "Why not? Given the text I just had you send and the fact I that have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?"

"Yes," Ophelia uttered as she look through the suitcase.

Sherlock smirks, "Now and then, yes."

"Okay, how did you get this?"

"Looking."

"Where?"

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention – particularly a man, which is statistically more likely – so obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every back street wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip," Sherlock explains.

John raised a brow, "Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?"

"Well, it had to be pink, obviously."

"Why didn't I think of that?" John whispers to himself.

"Because you're an idiot."

John stares at him; Sherlock makes a soothing gesture with one hand, "No, no, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is."

"Now, look. Do you see what's missing?" said Sherlock as he looks down at the case.

"From the case? How could I?"

Both Sherlock and Ophelia gave him a disappointed look, as if they thought he was an idiot.

John clears his throat, "Okay then… what's missing from her suitcase?"

"Her phone," both Sherlock and Ophelia whispers.


	5. Left Behind

**_Bec: Thank you so much for reading my story. As you can see Ophelia is following his footsteps. To tell you the truth I was not planning to have Sherlock to mean to Ophelia, I was planning him to spoil her, but I later decide it will be more like Sherlock, but maybe his character will change later on in the story. Isabella will be introduced more in "The Great Game" and yes she is a mystery._**

**_Guest: Thank you so much!_**

**_Please Review!_**

_Sherlock was lying on the couch reading his book, while Isabella sat on the floor, her head rest on the edge of the couch as she injects a needle through her skin. It was the not the first time she has done this, ever since Sherlock moved in with her she will spend most of her time injecting drugs into her body during the afternoons. While reading his book he felt her hand resting on his knees._

_"Have you ever tried it?" she whispers but her eyes still closed._

_"No."_

_She scoffs, "You should try it."_

_"I'm not interested," he uttered._

_She shook his head, "Try it Sherlock! It makes your brain work up… your deduction will be ten times better."_

_Sherlock raised a brow, "What is it you're taking?"_

_"Cocaine," she says with pride._

_"How on earth did you get it?"_

_She shrugs, "A friend of mine."_

_"Oh."_

_She nudged him, "So are you going to try it or not?"_

_"Maybe a little."_

_Isabella smiles at him and lend out her hand, "Give me your arm."_

_He did what he was told and lend out his right arm. Isabella pushes up his sleeves and slowly injects the needle into his skin. He could feel it the cocaine going through his body, his heart was pumping, and he could feel his brain working… it felt relieving."_

_"Put more," he begged._

_Isabella raised a brow, "You sure?"_

_He nods, "Yes."_

_Isabella put in a little bit of cocaine in the needle and starts to inject him once more "Aren't you glad you drop out of the boring school?"_

_Sherlock smirks, "I'm glad."_

_Isabella put the needle down and climbed on top of him and starts to stroke his black curly hair, "You don't have to be with those idiotic people anymore… you can now be with people like us."_

_Sherlock gave her a mysterious smile, "There are others?"_

_She nods, "There's a few of us, but I will let you meet them soon."_

_Sherlock then wrap his arms around her, "It's fading," he whispers his eyes show signs of tiredness._

_She smirks, "Don't worry I have more… but right now I will give you something that will last a little bit longer," she whispers to his ears._

_She presses her lips onto his and they kissed passionately._

….

"Her phone. Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, there's no phone in the case. We know she had one that's her number there; you just texted it," Sherlock points at the little paper John was holding.

"Maybe she left it at home," John suggests.

Sherlock puts his hands onto the arms of the chair and raises himself up so that he can lower his feet to the floor, then sits down properly on the chair, "She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

John looks at the pink phone that was resting on the arm of the chair, "Why did I just send that text?"

"Well, the question is: where is her phone now?"

"She could have lost it."

"Yes, or…" Ophelia gives him a mysterious smile.

"The murderer ... You two think the murderer has the phone?"

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone," Sherlock explains.

"Sorry, what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer?! What good will that do?" John asked nervously.

When he said that his phone begins to ring, John looks across Ophelia and Sherlock as the phone continues to ring.

"A few hours after his last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer would panic."

"Are you going to get that John?" Ophelia asked.

John raised a brow, "You want me to answer phone that might be a serial killer?

Ophelia looks at him with confusion, "Is that bad?"

John nods, "Yes, Ophelia that is really bad."

"Why?"

"Because… maybe the murderer wants to kill me."

"Why?"

"Because… oh, I don't know!" John raised his voice which made Ophelia jump.

John sigh, "Sorry, Ophelia I didn't mean to raise my voice."

Ophelia gave him a weak smile, "It's okay John."

"Have you talked to the police?" John looks up at Sherlock.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to me?"

Sherlock reaches behind the door to take his greatcoat from the hook. As he looks across towards John he notices that something is missing from the mantelpiece.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull."

"She doesn't like Billy," Ophelia whispers to John.

"So I'm basically filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine," said Sherlock as he puts on his jacket.

"Why didn't you tell all of this to Ophelia?" John points at her.

"Because, she was watching telly."

"Because I was bored!" Ophelia complains as she folds her arms across her chest.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and looks down at John, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Well, you could just sit there and watch telly. Ophelia put on your jacket."

Ophelia grabs her leather jacket from the floor and puts it on quickly.

"What, you want me to come with you two?" John asks.

"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so ..."

John gives him a quick smile.

"Problem?" Sherlock looks at him with confusion.

John nods, "Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

Sherlock looks away, "What about her?"

"Do you like her John? Ophelia looks at him with disbelief.

"Oh gosh no! I mean… She said ... You get off on this. You enjoy it."

"And I said "dangerous", and here you are."

Instantly Sherlock and Ophelia turn and walk out of the door. John sits there considerately for a few seconds, and then almost angrily leans onto his cane to push himself to his feet and head for the door, "Damn it!"

Not long afterwards, John catches up to Sherlock and Ophelia in the street and they continue down the road.

"Where are we going daddy?" Ophelia asks as she looks at him.

"Northumberland Street's a five-minute walk from here," said Sherlock without glancing at her.

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John asks.

"No – I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."

Ophelia slants her head, "Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, Ophelia. It needs an audience."

Johns looks pointedly at him, "Yeah."

While they were walking down Sherlock starts to spin, "This is his hunting ground, right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"

"Who?" John and Ophelia asked the same time.

Sherlock shrugs "Haven't the faintest. Hungry?"

Lowering his hands, he leads John and Ophelia onwards and into a small restaurant. The waiter near the door clearly knows him and gestures to a reserved table at the front window.

"Thank you, Billy," said Sherlock as he takes his coat off, sits down on the bench seat at the side of the table and immediately turns sideways so that he can see clearly out of the window. As Billy takes the 'Reserved' sign off the table, John sits down on the other bench seat with his back to the window, and takes off his jacket.

"Here's an extra chair for you Ophelia," said Billy as he brings in an extra chair to the table.

Ophelia smiles up at him, "Thank you Billy."

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it."

"He isn't just gonna ring the doorbell, though, is he? He'd need to be mad."

"He have killed four people," Ophelia points out.

"It's not have Ophelia it's has," Sherlock corrects her.

"Okay."

The owner of the restaurant comes over, clearly pleased to see Sherlock, "Sherlock! Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free."

"Ah signorina Ophelia, you grow up every single day."

"Grazie! Angelo."

"Come stai? (How are you)" Ophelia asks*.

"Sto bene grazie per avermelo chiesto (I'm good thank you for asking)."

"Posso ordinare un piatto di spaghetti (May I order some spaghetti)?"

Angelo nods his head, "Certo (Of course)!

"Grazie!"

He lays a couple of menus on the table, "Mr. Holmes your daughter is a bright young little girl," he complimented.

"Thank you Angelo," said Sherlock without glancing at him.

"You speak Italian?" John looks at Ophelia with amazement.

Ophelia nods, "Just the basics."

"On the house for you, your daughter, and your date," said Angelo with delight.

Sherlock looks at John, "Do you want to eat?"

"I'm not his date!" John protest.

"This man got me off a murder charge," Angelo brags.

"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduce him to John.

"Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town, house-breaking," he explains.

"He cleared my name," Angelo looks at John.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening opposite?"

"Nothing."

"But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

Ophelia looks at Angelo with confusion, "But you did go to prison."

"I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic," said Angelo as he walks away.

"I'm not his date!" John yells at him.

"Are you and daddy dating?" Ophelia asks.

"No! "

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait," said Sherlock as he puts down the menu.

Angelo comes back with a small glass bowl containing a lit tea-light. He puts it onto the table and place down a plate of spaghetti on the table.

"Grazie!"

Later, John has a plate of food in front of him and is eating from it. Sherlock's attention is fixed out of the window and he is quietly drumming his fingers on the table, "People don't have arch-enemies."

"Sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen."

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull," said Sherlock as he looks out of the window.

"So who did I meet?"

"What do real people have, then, in their 'real lives'?"

"Friends and family; people they know; people they like; people they don't like ... Girlfriends, boyfriends ..."

"Yes, well, as I was saying dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area."

John looks at Sherlock then to Ophelia and asks himself how the heck Sherlock had Ophelia in the first place if girlfriends were not his area.

"Oh, right. D'you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way."

"I know it's fine."

John smiles, "So you've got a boyfriend then?"

"No."

Ophelia gets up from her seat and starts to walk away.

"Where are you going?" John asks.

"I need to go to the loo!" Ophelia hissed.

"Oh… okay!" and Ophelia was out of sight.

"I know this is none of my business… but where is Ophelia's mother?"

"You're right Doctor Watson it is none of your business."

John sigh, "Where is her mother?"

Sherlock looks down at his hand that was now stopped tapping, "Dead."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

Sherlock shook his head, "It's fine, and honestly I don't know anything about her."

John raised a brow, "You don't know who she is but had a child with her… was she a surrogate?"

"No, I met her at a pub, we were both heavily drunk, and we had a one night stand. She was gone the next morning but couple months later she died in a car crash and I was told that her child was mine."

"Oh… I see," said John as he plays with his food, "So you're unattached like me… good."

"John, um ... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any ..."

"No, I'm not asking. No. I'm just saying, it's all fine."

"Good... Thank you."

He turns his attention back to the street. John looks away with a bemused expression on his. Just then, Sherlock nods out of the window "Look across the street. Taxi."

John twists in his seat to look out of the window where a taxi has parked at the side of the road with its back end towards the restaurant.

"Stopped. Nobody getting in and nobody getting out."

"Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" Sherlock talks to himself.

"That's him?"

"Don't stare," Sherlock warns him.

"You're staring," John points out.

"We can't both stare."

Getting to his feet, he grabs his coat and scarf and heads for the door. John picks up his own jacket and follows ... completely forgetting to take his walking cane with him… and there was one thing both men have left behind… Ophelia.

Ophelia walks out of the bathroom and saw the restaurant was now empty. She looks around to see if her father or John were hiding but realize they were not. Angelo comes out of the kitchen and notice Ophelia standing all alone.

"Ophelia, why are you still here?"

Ophelia looks up at him, "Where's daddy?"

"I saw your father and his date dash out the restaurant couple minutes ago… do you want me to take you home?" he suggest.

Ophelia shook her head, "I'm fine Angelo I can walk home from here."

"You sure? It's dark out there."

Ophelia puts on her leather jacket, "I'm fine Angelo, and beside I'm a big girl!"

Angelo chuckles, "I will let your father you're on your way home."

"Grazie!"

Ophelia starts to walk the dark road all by herself but she wasn't scared. As she continues to walk, a small black cab parks nearby and the window slowly turns down.


	6. Chance

When Sherlock and John arrived at the flat, they found Lestrade and his followers doing a "drug bust" at their flat. Sherlock told them Rachel was actually a password to the dead pink lady's email on her phone, which has a GPS that could trace her phone. When they trace it the GPS located the phone in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock stood there, still putting it all together. On the landing, the taxi driver takes a pink smartphone from his pocket and sends a text. A moment later, Sherlock's own phone trills a text alert. Taking his phone from his pocket he looks at the message.

**"Come with me,"** The taxi driver turns around and calmly goes down the stairs.

"Sherlock, you okay?" John asks looking concerned.

Sherlock vaguely watches the man go, "What? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"So, how can the phone be here?"

"Dunno," said Sherlock still watching the taxi driver.

"I'll try it again," said John as he gets his own phone out of his pocket.

"Good idea," said Sherlock as he heads to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long," said Sherlock as he leaves the room.

"You sure you're all right?" John yells at him.

"I'm fine!"

Sherlock opens the front door and stands on the doorsteps. A taxi is parked at the curb and the driver is leaning calmly against the side of the cab, "Taxi for Sherlock Holmes."

"I didn't order a taxi."

The taxi driver smiles, "Doesn't mean you don't need one."

"You're the cabbie. The one who stopped outside Northumberland Street. It was you, not your passenger." Sherlock points out.

"See? No one ever thinks about the cabbie. It's like you're invisible. Just the back of a head. Proper advantage for a serial killer.

Sherlock takes a few more steps forward, "Is this a confession?"

The taxi driver nods, "Oh, yeah. An' I'll tell you what else: if you call the coppers now, I won't run. I'll sit quiet and they can take me down, I promise."

"Why?" Sherlock looks at him with curiosity.

"Cause you're not gonna do that."

"Am I not?" Sherlock raised a brow.

"I didn't kill those four people, Mr. Holmes. I spoke to 'em… and they killed themselves. And if you get the coppers now, I promise you one thing. I will never tell you what I said."

Sherlock stares at him for a moment while the taxi driver straightens up and starts to walk around the cab, "No one else will die, though, and I believe they call that a result."

The taxi stops and turns back towards him, "And you won't ever understand how those people died. What kind of result do you care about?"

He turns again and continues around to the driver's door and gets into the car. Biting his lip, Sherlock walks closer to the cab, looking up again at the flat window, and then he leans down and looks into the open side window of the cab, "If I wanted to understand, what would I do?"

The taxi driver looks at him and smiles, "Let me take you for a ride."

"So you can kill me too?"

"I don't wanna kill you, Mr. Holmes. I'm gonna talk to you… and then you're gonna kill yourself."

Sherlock straightens up, his eyes lost in thought as he considers the situation. The taxi driver calmly sits gazing out of the window, then smiles as the rear door opens. When Sherlock gets in the car he saw a little girl sleeping in the back seat of the car.

"Ophelia!" he yells, but there was no response.

"What did you do to her?" he demands as he saw some candy wrappers in Ophelia's hand.

"Don't worry Mr. Holmes; I only drugged her."

…

In the flat, John has his phone held to his ear as he looks out of the window, "He just got in a cab."

"It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab," John looks at Lestrade.

"I told you, he does that. He bloddy left again. We're wasting our time!" said Donovan as she walks back into the kitchen.

"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out," said John.

"If it's ringing, it's not here," said Lestrade.

"I'll try the search again," said John as he lowers his phone and reaches for the computer notebook.

"Does it matter? Does any of it? You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll always let you down, and you're wasting your time. All our time," Donovan complains. Lestrade stares at her for a moment as she holds his gaze, then he sighs, "Okay, everybody. Done here!"

In the cab, Sherlock is watching the London scenery pass by, as Ophelia was resting her head on his lap while his hands rest on her curly black hair, "How did you find us?"

"Oh, I recognized you, soon as I saw you chasing my cab and your daughter was walking all by self I could see the resemblance. Sherlock Holmes! I was warned about you. I've been on your website, too. Brilliant stuff! Loved it!"

"Who warned you about me?"

"Just someone out there who's noticed you.

"Who? Who would notice me"

"You're too modest, Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock shook his head, "I'm really not."

"You've got yourself a fan."

Sherlock sits back in his seat, "tell me more…"

"That's all you're gonna know in this lifetime," the taxi driver whispers.

…

Back in the flat, as the other officers leave, Lestrade picks up his coat and turns to John, "Why did he do that? Why did he have to leave?"

John shrugs, "You know him better than I do."

"I've known him for five years and no, I don't."

"So why do you put up with him?"

"Because I'm desperate, that's why," Lestrade explains.

He walks to the door, then turns back, "And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very very lucky, he might even be a good one."

Lestrade was about to leave until he notice something was different, "Doctor Watson

"Yes?"

"Where's Ophelia?"

John looks at him with confusion for a moment but then everything came to him… they left Ophelia behind.

…

Some distance away, the cab drives on and finally stops at the front of two building side by side. The driver turns off the engine and gets out, coming to the passenger door and opening it. He looks in at Sherlock.

"Where are we?" Sherlock asks.

"You know every street in London. You know exactly where we are."

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"

"It's open, cleaners are in. One thing about be in a cabbie you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out," he explains.

"And you just walk your victims in? How?" Sherlock raised a brow.

The driver raises a pistol and points it at Sherlock. Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Oh, dull."

"Don't worry. It gets better."

"You can't make people take their own lives at gunpoint."

"I don't. It's much better than that," as he lowers the gun, "Don't need this with you, cause you'll follow me. Bring the child with you," he confidently walks away. Sherlock sits for a moment then gets out of the cab, carries Ophelia in his arms, and he follows the man. The driver opens the door of a room and stands aside so that Sherlock can go in. Sherlock looks at him closely but steps inside the room, and then the driver releases the door and lets it closed as he walks over and turns on the lights. The men are in a large classroom.

"Well, what do you think?"

Sherlock raises his hands and shrugs.

"It's up to you. You're the one who's gonna die here."

Sherlock turns back to him, "No, I'm not."

The driver smirks, "That's what they all say."

"Shall we talk?" the driver gestures to one of the benches. The driver pulls out one of the chairs and sits down. Sherlock place Ophelia on the chair and he also takes a chair from the bench in front. He sighs dramatically, "Bit risky, wasn't it? Took me away under the eye of about half a dozen policemen. They're not that stupid. And Mrs. Hudson will remember you."

"You call that a risk? Nah," said the driver as he reaches into his left pocket.

"This is a risk," he takes out a small glass bottle with a single large capsule inside. Sherlock looks at it but doesn't react in any way.

"Ooh, I like this bit. Cause you don't get it yet, do yer? But you're about to. I just have to do this," he reaches to his right pocket and takes out an identical bottle containing an identical capsule and puts it onto the table.

"You weren't expecting that, were you? Ooh, you're going to love this."

"Love what?" Sherlock raised a brow.

The driver sits back, "Sherlock Holmes, look at you! Here in the flesh. That website of yours, your fan told me about it."

"My fan?"

"You are brilliant. You are. A proper genius. The Science of Deduction. Now that is proper thinking. Between you and me sitting here, why can't people think?" he looks down angrily, "Don't it make you mad? Why can't people just think?"

"Oh, I see. So you're a proper genius too," said Sherlock sarcastically.

The driver scoffs, "Don't look it, do I? Funny little man driving a cab. But you'll know better in a minute. Chances are it'll be the last thing you ever know."

Sherlock looks down at the two bottles, "Okay, two bottles. Explain."

"There's a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, your life; take the pull from the bad bottle, you die."

"Both bottles are of course identical."

"In every way."

"And you know which is which."

"Course I know."

"But I don't," Sherlock points out."

"Wouldn't be a game if you knew. You're the one who chooses."

"Why should I? I've got nothing to go on. What's in it for me?"

"I haven't told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one and then, together, we take our medicine. I won't cheat. It's your choice. I'll take whatever pill you don't. Didn't expect that, did you, Mr. Holmes?"

"What does Ophelia has to do with this?" Sherlock demands.

The driver smirks, "If you choose the bad bottle… I want to continue the game with her."

Sherlock narrow his eyes at him, "Why? Why her?"

"Because she's a genius."

Sherlock scoff, "You think she's a genius?"

The driver leans close to him, "Of course I do Mr. Holmes. I got to talk to her a little bit before I drugged her. Smart child for her age of course she is when both of her parents are genius."

Sherlock frowns, "How do you know about her mother?"

"Like I said your fan knows everything about you."

"If you continue with your game with Ophelia, if she chooses the bad bottle wouldn't it be a bit suspicious for a five year old to commit suicide?" Sherlock raised a brow.

"I don't see how it's suspicious Mr. Holmes. Everyone knows you neglect the girl."

Sherlock glares at him but not saying a word.

"'I don't think my father loves me, he always gets mad at me whatever I do something'. That's what she told me Mr. Holmes. I don't think it will be suspicious for people to think she commit suicide, don't you agree Mr. Holmes?"

"Enough with the chit chat. I want your best game."

"It's not a game. It's chance," Sherlock raises his voice."

"I've played four times. I'm alive. It's not chance, Mr. Holmes, its chess. It's a game of chess, with one move, and one survivor. And this ... this ... is the move." The driver slides the left hand bottle towards Sherlock, "Did I just give you the good bottle or the bad bottle? You can choose either one."

"You read yet, Mr. Holmes? Ready to play?"

"Play what? It's a fifty-fifty chance," Sherlock points out.

"You're not playin' the numbers, you're playin' me. Did I just give you the good pill or the bad pill? Is it a bluff? Or a double-bluff? Or a triple-bluff?"

"Still just chance."

"Four people in a row? It's not just chance."

"Luck," Sherlock adds.

"It's genius. I know how people think. I know how people think I think. I can see it all, like a map inside my head. Everyone's so stupid even you."

Sherlock glares at him.

"Or maybe God just loves me," the cabbie adds.

Sherlock straightens up and leans forward, folding his hands in front of him, "Either way, you're wasted as a cabbie."


	7. Because you're an idiot

In the classroom, Sherlock lifts his folded hands in front of his mouth and gazes at Jeff carefully, "So, you risked your life four times just to kill strangers. Why?"

"Time to play," said the cabbie as he nods down to the bottles.

Sherlock unfolds his fingers and place his hands into a pray position in front of his mouth, "Oh, I am playing. This is my turn. There's shaving foam behind your left ear. Nobody's pointed it out to you. Traces of where it's happened before, so obviously you live on your own; there's no one to tell you. But there's a photograph of children. The children's mother has been cut out of the picture. If she'd died, she'd still be there. The photography's old but the frames new. You think of your children but you don't get to see them. Estranged father. She took the kids, but you still love them and it still hurts."

Sherlock then extends his index fingers, "Ah, but there's more. Your clothes recently laundered but everything you're wearing at least… three years old? Keeping up appearances but not planning ahead. And here you are on a kamikaze murder spree. What's that about?"

The driver got control of himself again and show no signs of emotion.

"Ahh. Three years ago is that when they told you?" Sherlock asks softly.

"Told me what?" the cabbie snaps.

"That you're a dead man walking."

"So are you," the driver reminds him.

"You don't have long, though. Am I right?"

The cabbie smiles, "Aneurism," he lifts his hand and taps the side of his head, "Right in here. Any breath could be my last."

Sherlock frowns, "And because you're dying, you've just murdered four people."

"I've outlived four people. That's the most fun you can have on an aneurism," the driver corrects him.

"No. No, there's something else. You didn't just kill four people because you're bitter. Bitterness is a paralytic. Love is a much more vicious motivator. Somehow this is about your children."

The driver sighs, "Ohh. You are good, ain't you?"

"But how?"

"When I die, they won't get much, my kids. Not a lot of money in driving cabs."

"Or serial killing," Sherlock adds.

"You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me."

The driver leans forward, "I have a sponsor."

"You have a what?"

"For every life I take, money goes to my kids. The more I kill, the better off they'll be. You see? It's nicer than you think. Mr. Holmes would you do anything for your child?" said the driver as he looks at Ophelia who was sleeping.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at him, "Do you think I care about her?"

The driver scoffs, "I know you never wanted to raise her, but you didn't had a choice did you? No, you had a choice but you didn't want the mother to have her."

"How do you know all of this?"

"My sponsor."

Sherlock frowns, "Who'd sponsor a serial killer?"

"Who'd be a fan of Sherlock Holmes," the driver replies instantly.

"You're not the only one to enjoy a good murder. There's others out there just like you, except you're just a man… and they're so much more than that."

"What do you mean, more than a man? An organization? What?" Sherlock demands.

"There's a name no-one says, and I'm not gonna say it either. Now, enough chatter. Time to choose."

"What if I don't choose either? I could just walk out of here."

The driver sighs with disappointment and lifts up the pistol and points it at Sherlock, "You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no ones ever gone for that option."

Sherlock smiles calmly, "I'll have the gun, please."

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock continuous to smile, "Definitely. The gun."

The driver slowly squeezes the trigger. A small flame burst out of the end of the muzzle which made Sherlock smile smugly, "I know a real gun when I see one."

Calmly the driver lifts the pistole and releases the trigger. The flame goes out.

"None of the others did."

"Clearly. Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case," he stands up, carries Ophelia in his arms and walks towards the door.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out?"

Sherlock stops at the door and half-turns towards him.

"Which one's the good bottle?"

Sherlock smiles, "Of course. Child's play."

"Well, which one, then?"

Sherlock opens the door a little but still hesitating if he should leave the room or continue the game.

"Which one would you have picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?"

Sherlock closes the door which made the driver chuckle, "Come one. Play the game."

Slowly Sherlock walks back towards him. He place Ophelia on the chair once more and gets to the table, he reaches out and sweeps up the bottle that was near to the driver, then walks past him.

"Oh. Interesting," he picks up the other bottle as Sherlock looks down at the bottle in his own hand. The driver opened his bottle and tips the capsule out into his hand. He holds it up and looks at it closely as Sherlock examines his own bottle, "So what do you think? Shall we? Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life?"

The driver continues to hold up his pill as he looks at Sherlock, "I bet you get bored, don't you? I know you do. A man like you so clever. But what's the point of being clever if you can't prove it?"

Sherlock takes out the capsule and raise it to the light to examine it more closely.

"Still the addict, but this… this is what you really addicted to."

Slowly Sherlock lowers the pill again, holding it at eye level and gazing at it.

"You'd do anything… anything at all…"

Sherlock fingers begin to tremble with excitement and anticipationg.

"To stop being bored."

Sherlock begins to move the pill closer to his mouth.

"You're not bored now, are you? Isn't it good?"

Then a gunshot rings out and a bullet impacts on the drivers chest, then goes through his body and smashes into the wall behind him. As he falls to he floor, Sherlock drops his pill in surprise. Ophelia got up from her seat and starts to scream. Sherlock turns, slides over the desk behind him and hurries to the window. When he look at the building that the bullet came from there was nobody in sight. As Sherlock straightens up, the driver breathes heavily while Ophelia sits underneath the table pressing her ears with her hands and sobs. Sherlock turns back, sees the pill lying on the desk he picks up the pill, kneels down, "Was I right? I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?"

The driver's only reply was a scoff. Sherlock angrily throws the pill across the room and stands up, "Okay, tell me this: Your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me. My fan. I want a name."

"No," the driver replied weakly.

"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name."

The driver shook his head. Sherlock lifts his foot and place onto the driver's shoulder.

"A name! Now! THE NAME!" he yells furiously.

"MORIARTY!" the driver yells as his eyes close and his head rolls to the side.

Sherlock steps back, turning his head away and looking reflective. Then he heard a little sob from underneath the table. He knelt down and saw Ophelia crying.

"Ophelia," Sherlock replies calmly as he reaches for her. Ophelia backs away from him slowly.

Sherlock looks at her with a hurtful expression, "Ophelia, it's okay… everything is over. Come out sweetheart." Ophelia looks at him with confusion wondering if she was with the same man before… the man who gave no mercy to the driver.

"You won't hurt me?" she whispers.

Sherlock smirks, "I promise I won't… now come out darling," he reaches out his hand for hers. Ophelia looks at his hand for a moment and slowly accepts it.

Later Sherlock and Ophelia are sitting on the back steps of an ambulance, a paramedic puts an orange blanket around their shoulders as Lestrade walks over.

"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting these blankets on us," he looks at the blanket with annoyance.

"Yeah, it's for shock."

"I'm not in shock," Sherlock protest.

Lestrade nods, "Yeah, but you're daughter is. And some of the guys wanna take photographs," he smiles while Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Who killed the man Uncle Lestrade?" Ophelia asks as she cover herself with the orange blanketed.

Lestrade shook his head, "We don't know Ophelia… Cleared off before we got here but a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but got nothing to go on."

Sherlock looks at him pointedly, "Oh, I wouldn't say that."

Lestrade roll his eyes," Okay, gimme."

Sherlock stands up, "The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service ..."

While Sherlock was doing his deduction Ophelia looks around and saw John standing behind the police tape, "Umm daddy…," Ophelia tugs his jacket.

"Not now Ophelia! And nerves of steel…" he trails off as John looks back at him innocently and turns his head away. Sherlock begins to realize the connection, "Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."

"Sorry?" Lestrade looks at him with confusion.

"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking," said Sherlock as he starts to walk towards John.

"Where're you going?"

" I just need to talk about the rent," Sherlock explains.

"But I've still got questions for you."

Sherlock turns around, "Oh, What now? I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!"

"Sherlock!"

"And I just caught you a serial killer… more or less. And look even Ophelia is in shock!" he places his hand on Ophelia's shoulder who was looking at the two men innocently.

Lestrade looks at them thoughtfully for a moment, "Okay, we'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go."

Sherlock walks away, taking the blanket from his shoulder, Sherlock bundles it up and gives it to Ophelia, "Here, you can keep it."

Sherlock and Ophelia were now approaching to John who was standing at the side of a police car, "Um, Sergent Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills. Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful."

"Good shot," Sherlock whispers.

"Yes, Yes, must have been through that window," said John trying to look innocent.

"John, we know it's you," Ophelia points out.

"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this, but let's avoid the court case," Sherlock whispers to him.

"Are you alright John?" Ophelia asks.

"Yes, of course I'm all right!"

"Well, you have just killed a man," Sherlock points out.

"Yes, I…. that's true, isn't?" he smiles.

"But he wasn't a very nice man."

Both Sherlock and Ophelia nods in agreement," No. No, he wasn't really, was he?"

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie," All three of them chuckles, and then they all start to walk away.

"That's true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"

John and Ophelia giggles and Sherlock smiles.

"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

"You're the one who shot him. Don't blame me."

"Keep your voice down!" John snaps at him as they walk past Serfeant Donovan.

"Sorry, it's just, um, nerves, I think," said John.

"Sorry."

"You were gonna take that damned pill, weren't you?"

Sherlock turns back to him, "Course I wasn't. Biding my time. Knew you'd turn up."

"No, you didn't! You were going to take that pill! If you only you knew both of them were posion," Ophelia points out.

Sherlock stops and looks at her, "Wait? You were awake the whole time?"

Ophelia nods, "Yeah."

"I thought you were drugged."

"Daddy, you taught me not to take candy from strangers," Ophelia reminds him.

"How did you know both of them were bad?" John asks.

Ophelia smiles at him, "Because he wasn't planning to take the pill."

John looks at Sherlock, "It's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're an idiot."

After a moment Sherlock smiles down, "Dinner?"

"Starving!"

"But I'm not hungry!" Ophelia complains.

"Oh, stop complaining you don't have to eat with us," said Sherlock as they start to walk again.

"End of Baker Street, there's a good Chinese stays open 'til two. You can always tell a good Chinese by examining the bottom third of the door handle."

A car pulls up and the man who kidnapped John earlier gets out, "Sherlock. That's him. That's the man I was talking to you about."

Sherlock looks at the man, "I know exactly who that is ."

He walks closer to the man and stops looking at him angrily,

"So, another case cracked. How very public spirited ... though that's never really your motivation, is it?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock raised his voice.

"I'm concerned about you and Ophelia," the man explains.

"Yes, I've been hearing about your concern."

"Always so aggressive. Did it never occur to you that you and I belong on the same side?"

"Oddly enough, no!" Sherlock replies sarcastically.

"We have more in common than you like to believe. This petty feud between us is simply childish. People will suffer ... and you know how it always upset Mummy."

John frowns as if unsure of what he just heard.

"I upset her? Me?" Sherlock looks at the man with confusion, "It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft!"

"No, no, wait… mummy? Who's mummy?"

"Mother… our mother. This is my brother, Mycroft."

"Hello Uncle Mycroft," Ophelia smiles widely at him.

"Why isn't it my favorite niece?"

Ophelia frowns, "I'm your only niece."

Mycroft smiles, "Precisely."

"Putting on weight again?" Sherlock asks Mycroft.

"Losing it, in fact."

"He's your brother?" John asks still not sure what's going on.

"Of course he's my brother!"

"So he's not…" John trails off not wanting to sound stupid.

"Not what?"

"I dunno a criminal mastermind?"

Sherlock looks at Mycroft with disgust, "Close enough."

Mycroft rolls his eyes, "For goodness' sake. I occupy a minor position in the British government."

"He is the British government, when he's not too busy being the British Secret Service or the CIA on a freelance basis. Good evening, Mycroft. Try not to start a war before I get home. You know what it does for the traffic," said Sherlock as he walks away.

"Bye uncle Mycroft!" Ophelia waves as she follows behind her father.

"So, when you say you're concerned about them, you actually are concerned?"

"Yes, of course."

"I mean, it actually is a childish feud?"

"He's always been so resentful. You can imagine the Christmas dinners," said Mycroft as he still looks at his brother.

"Yeah… no. God, no!" he turns to follow Sherlock, "I-I'd better, umm… Hello again," said John as he looks at Anthea who looks up from her phone and smiles at him brightly, "Hello!"

"Yes, we met earlier on this evening."

She stares at him for a moment then remembers who he is, "Oh!"

"Okay, good night!" said John as he catches up to Sherlock and Ophelia.

"I can always predict the fortune cookies," said Sherlock with pride.

"No, you can't."

"He can," Ophelia points out."

Sherlock smirks, "Almost can. You did get shot, though."

"Sorry?"

"In Afghanistan. There was an actual wound."

"Oh, yeah. Shoulder."

"Told you so!" Ophelia sticks her tongue out at Sherlock.

"Shoulder! I thought so," said Sherlock ignoring Ophelia comment.

John shook his head, "No, you didn't."

"The left one."

"Lucky guess."

"I never guess."

"Sometimes," said Ophelia as she smiles up at him who was also smiling down at her.

"What are you so happy about?" John asks.

"Moriarty," Sherlock whispers.

"What's a Moriarty?" Ophelia asks.

"I've absolutely no idea!" Sherlock replies cheerfully.

Back at the car, Anthea turns to Mycroft who is still watching the three walking away.

"Sir, shall we go?"

"Interesting, that soldier fellow. He could be the making of my brother than Ophelia… or make him worse than ever. Either way, we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade three active."

Anthea looks up from her phone, "Sorry, sir whose status?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Ophelia Holmes, and Doctor Watson."


	8. It's the Solar System!

**I just want to say thank you for everyone who has been reading my stories and reviewing them!**

**If you have notice or will I decide not to do the Blind Banker (because of time and I didn't see how Ophelia will fit in).**

**Response**

**Avis11: Thank you so much! There are other stories of Sherlock having a child through the series but most of the are teenagers so I wanted to do something different by Sherlock having a younger child. I know a lot of people been asking me to have him to be nice to Ophelia, just for everyone to know this story is about Sherlock developing a relationship with his daughter; so don't worry he will be nice to her ;)**

**Kie1993: Thank you so much for reading!**

**neva-chanluvmonsters101: Thank you and yes I have to agree Ophelia is just a cute little thing.**

**NaviRebel16: Thank you! I'll update as much I can.**

**cag21: Thank you!**

Sherlock is sitting at a table in a large room full of tables and chairs with a guy in an orange prison suit, "Just tell me what happened from the beginning," Sherlock sighs with boredom.

"We went to a bar, nice place and uh... I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't happy with that so, we get back to the hotel and end up havin' a bit of a ding dong, don't we? She's always getting at me. Saying I weren't a real man…"

"Wasn't a real man," Sherlock interrupts him.

"What?"

"It's not weren't it's wasn't," Sherlock corrects him.

"Oh."

"Go on."

"Well, um... Then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife, in my hands. And y'know me old man was a butcher so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast…"

"Taught."

"What?" the man asks aggressively.

"Taught you how to cut up a beast."

"Yeah, well, then I done it…"

"Did it Mr. Berwick… my five years old daughter speaks better grammar then you do," Sherlock mocks him.

"Did it!" Berwick hits the table angrily, "Stabbed her! Over and over and over and I looked down and she weren't…"

Sherlock turns his head and glares at him.

"…wasn't moving no more."

Sherlock looks around the room.

"Any more. God help me, I dunno how it happened but it was an accident I swear."

Sherlock got up from his chair and starts to walk away.

"Hey! You've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock stops and stood there for a moment.

"Everyone says you're the best. Without you… I'll get hung for this."

Sherlock turns back, "No no no, Mr. Berwick, not at all. Hanged, yes," Sherlock smirks and walks away.

….

John was walking around the streets of London to get some fresh air when after being told that he was fired from his job. When he was half-way home his phone went off. He took out his phone from his pocket and answers it, "Hello?"

"Hello is this Doctor John Watson?" said a woman's voice.

"You're talking to him," he clears his throat.

"Hi, my name is Mary Morstan, I am Ophelia Holmes's teacher."

"Is everything alright?" John asks sounding concern.

"No, everything's fine… it's just that Ophelia's father hasn't picked her up yet."

John quickly glances at his watch quickly it was past 6 o'clock, "Honestly, I don't know where he is. Would you like me to pick her up?"

"If that's alright with you."

John nods his head, "Of course, could you give me the address to the school."

….

John arrives at North London Collegiate School; he gets out of the cab and walks into the school. There he saw Ophelia riding on the swing. Swinging next to her was a blonde, pale skin, and blue eye young woman who was wearing a white blouse and a black pencil skirt.

Ophelia looks at him with delight and runs up to him, "John!" Her curly black hair was swinging side by side while she was wearing her bluish white dress school uniform, blue sweater, white socks, and black shoes.

"Is daddy home yet?" Ophelia asks looking at him with excitement.

"Did he go somewhere?" John asks looking confused.

Ophelia nods, "He told me he was going to Belarus,"

Before John could response the young woman came up to him, "So you must be Doctor Watson that Ophelia always talks about."

John looks at her nervously, "Ah yes, you must be Ophelia's teacher."

The woman nods her head and smiles, "Mary."

John smiles, "John."

Mary giggles, "Yes, I know."

"Are you ready to go Ophelia?" says Mary as she smiles down at Ophelia.

Ophelia nods her head, "Yep."

"Remember your homework is due tomorrow."

"I won't forget."

Mary looks up at John, "Are you free Doctor Watson?"

John clears his throat, "It's very kind of you Mary, but, er, I'm in a relationship…."

Mary raises her hand to stop him, "Doctor Watson I meant if you are free to help with Ophelia's homework."

John looks at her with embarrassment, "Oh! Um, yeah I can help her with her homework."

"But I don't need help! It's too easy!" Ophelia complains.

"Ready to go home Ophelia?" John asks ignoring her last comment.

"Yeah."

"See you tomorrow Ophelia. Again thank you very much Doctor Watson," Mary waves at them and starts to walk away while John continues to stare at her.

Ophelia looks up at John and gives him a mysterious smile.

"What?" John asks looking at her with confusion.

"You like her."

John smirks and shook his head, "No, I don't! Beside I have Sarah!"

Ophelia rolls her eyes, "Grown up."

…

Two gunshots ring out. The camera pans across the living room and shows Sherlock lying wilting in his armchair with his head resting on the low back of the chair. He closes his eyes briefly, then opens them and gazes up towards the ceiling. Sherlock turns his head to look towards the sofa. He is wearing sleepwear and a blue dressing gown and his feet are bare. John comes running up the stairs with his fingers in his ears while Ophelia ran upstairs to her room. John stops on the landing, lowers his hands and yells at his flat mate, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Bored," Sherlock utters.

"What?" John asks looking at him with disbelief.

"Bored!" Sherlock yells as he springs up from his chair and starts to shoot the wall at least four times.

"Bored! Bored!"

As he brings his arm back around, John hurries into the room and Sherlock continues to glare at the smiley face but allows John to snatch the pistol from his hand. John quickly slides the clip out of the gun as Sherlock walks towards the sofa.

"You're worst then Ophelia," John mutters as he places down the gun on the desk.

"How so?" Sherlock asks as he raised a brow.

"Because she doesn't shoot the wall when she gets bored," said Ophelia as she walks into the room.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them," said Sherlock as he walks towards the smiley face.

"So you take it out on the wall."

Sherlock runs his fingers along the painted smile, "The wall had it coming."

He turns sideways and dramatically flops down onto the sofa on his back, his head landing on a cushion at one end and his feet digging into the arm of the sofa at the end nearest the windows.

"What about the Russian case?" John asks as he takes off his jacket.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time. Why were you late?"

"Because Sherlock, someone forgot to pick up their daughter from school so I had to go pick up his daughter instead," John's tone went cold.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asks.

"6:30,"

"Oh," said Sherlock as he looks away.

He walks into the kitchen and throws his arms up in despair at the mess on the table which greets him. He heads towards the fridge, "Anything in? I'm starving."

John opens the door, "Oh, fu…" He immediately slams it shut again, unable to believe what he just saw inside. He slumps against the door for a moment, his head lowered, and then he straightens up and opens the fridge door again hoping it was all in his head. On the shelf inside is a man's head, cut off at the neck. He stares at it for a couple of seconds, and then quietly closes the door again.

"It's a head… A severed head!"

"Just tea for me thanks," Sherlock utters.

"No, there's a head in the fridge," said John as he walks into the living room.

"Yes," Sherlock replies calmly.

"A bloody head!" John yells furiously.

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you? I got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death."

John covers his head with his hand, "Have you ever consider how Ophelia is going to react to this? She's going to have nightmares."

Ophelia walks into the kitchen, "Do we have any juice daddy?"

"I think there's only one left… I used the rest for my experiment I hope you don't mind," said Sherlock without glancing at her.

"Ophelia, I don't think you should open…" but it was too late Ophelia already opens the fridge door. She stares at the head for a moment then took out a juice box, and closed the fridge door as if this was something not unusual.

"Did Molly give you the head daddy?" Ophelia asks.

Sherlock nods, "Who else would give me a bloody head?"

Ophelia shrugs, "Just wondering."

"I see you've written up the taxi driver case," said Sherlock as he points at the laptop.

"Uh, yes," said John as he looks at Ophelia with disbelief who was sitting on one of the chairs that was close to the window and drinks her juice quietly.

"A study in pink….nice."

"Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone – there was a lot of pink. Did you like it?" asked John as he sits on his favorite armchair.

Sherlock picks up a magazine from the coffee table and he now flips it open, "Ummmmm. No!"

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered."

Sherlock lower the magazine, "Flattered? Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

"Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a ..."

Sherlock interrupts him, "Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister ..."

"I know," John whispers.

"... or who's sleeping with who ..."

"Whether the Earth goes round the Sun ..."

"Not that again! It's not important!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"Not impor…" John shifts his position to face Sherlock.

"It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

"It's because he deleted it," Ophelia whispers.

John looks at Ophelia, "What?"

Ophelia sighs, "Daddy thinks whatever something is not important he has to delete it."

Sherlock sits up and points his head, "Listen! This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

"John looks at him for a moment, trying to bite his lip but then can't contain himself, "But it's the solar system!"

"Oh, hell! What does that matter? So we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. "

"You don't know that the earth goes around the sun, but still remember round and round the garden?" Ophelia looks at him with disbelief.

"Of course I do! You made me recite it you every day when you were little," he reminds her.

"I'm five and I know the earth goes around the sun."

"Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world," Crossly shoving the magazine across the coffee table, he lies down on the sofa again, turning over with his back to John. John looks away and purses his lips. John stands up and walks towards the living room door.

"Where are you going John?" Ophelia asks as she took another sip of her juice.

"Out I need some air," said John as he put on his coat and walks out of the room.

"Excuse me Mrs. Hudson," said John as Mrs. Hudson walks in with grocery bags in her hands.

"Oh, sorry love!"

"Have you two had a little domestic?" asks Mrs. Hudson as she place the grocery bags on the kitchen bag.

"It was daddy's fault!" Ophelia points at Sherlock.

"Since when was a day that wasn't your father's fault?"

Ophelia purse her lips and looks up, "I don't know…"

Sherlock stands up off the sofa and takes the shortest route to his destination, walking over the coffee table and going to the left-hand window just as the downstairs door opens and closes.

"Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more."

"Look at that, Mrs Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful. Isn't it hateful?" he hissed.

"You hate everything," Ophelia points out.

"Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder… that'll cheer you up."

"Can't come to soon," he whispers wishfully.

As Mrs. Hudson was ready to leave the flat she notices the smiley face on the wall, "Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!"

"Daddy got bored."

"I'm putting this on your rent, young man!"

Sherlock grins over the smiley face, then sighs and turns his head to the front, "So what do you want to do?" he asks.

Ophelia shrugs, "I don't know,"

"What about cluedo?" he suggests.

Ophelia shook her head, "No!"

"How come?"

"Because you cheat!

"I do not!" he protests.

"Yes, you do!"

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do!

Then a massive explosion goes off in the street behind him. The windows blow in and the blast hurls both Sherlock and Ophelia forward and to the floor.


	9. I'd be lost without my blogger

_Sherlock open his eyes slowly and found himself on his bed while the white sheets were tangled around him. He turns to his left side and realized Isabella was not lying next to him. Then he could hear a man talking in the living room while Isabella gave out a loud laugh. Sherlock groans loudly as he got up from his bed and put on his pants. When he walked out of the room he saw a man he did not recognize sitting in his couch while Isabella sat on her red armchair, wearing her black dress, dark eye makeup, and her red lipstick stick out. She turns around and smiles at Sherlock "Come meet my friend sweetheart."_

_Sherlock roll his eyes and walks towards them, "Who are you?" _

_"I told you Sweetheart he's just a friend of mine," she smiles as she gently touches his hand._

_A man got up from his seat and lend out his hand, "Sebastian Moran."_

_Sherlock looks at his hand for a moment then accepts it, "Sherlock Holmes."_

_Sebastian smiles, "Yes, I know. You're girlfriend here won't stop talking about you."_

_Sherlock smirk, "Judging by your hands you were solider and a writer."_

_"Oh you're a proper genius too."_

_"You boys can flirt with each other later. Sebastian is there something the boss wants me to do?" She looks at him with excitement._

_"The boss?" Sherlock raised a brow._

_"He's the one that gather people like us who are outcast because of our intellect," she explains._

_"Who is he?"_

_Isabella shrugs, "Nobody knows except for Sebastian here, he's the teacher's pet."_

_"Not everything," said Sebastian as he took his seat._

_"Whatever," Isabella rolls her eyes._

_Isabella got up from her seat and walks into the kitchen while Sebastian follows behind her. As she washes the dishes Sebastian place his cold large hands on her arm and breathe near her neck which made her shiver. He slowly kisses her neck as he rubs her bare shoulder._

_"You shouldn't… he can see you," she whispers._

_"Let him," Sebastian whispers as he continues to kiss her._

_"Not now," she hisses at him._

_Sebastian lets go and slowly places his lips near her ear, "In fact there is something he wants you to do, but I'll explain it to you more later tonight," he whispers and walks away while Sherlock glares at the two._

_…._

Sherlock groan as he slowly open his eyes. He found himself lying flat on the floor and lay there for a moment wondering how the heck he got himself there. When everything focuses he remembered there was explosion across from the street. The biggest mess was near the windows, but there was glass scattered all across the floor. As he was observing this, he suddenly remembered that Ophelia was there. His eyes widened with fear, "Ophelia!" he yells as he straightens himself up. He then heard a quiet sob in the corner of the room. He follows the sound and found Ophelia sitting on the floor, crying silently.

"Are you alright?" he asks as he knelt down to look at her closely.

Ophelia shook her head, "My knee hurts," she whimpers.

Sherlock looks down at her left knee and saw shattered glass on her knee while it was covered with blood.

"Can you walk?" he asks softly.

Ophelia shook her head, "It hurts."

Sherlock sighs heavily and gently pick her up from the floor and place her on the couch. As he got up he starts to look around the room, "Where's John?"

"He left remembers?" she reminds him.

Sherlock looks at her wound one more time it was something that had to be deal with right away. Sherlock went to the kitchen pick up a tweezers and an empty bowl, "I guess I have no choice but take it out for you."

Ophelia backs away, "No!"

"Ophelia, we don't have a choice," Sherlock raised his voice.

"Just take me to the hospital!" she yells.

Sherlock put the tweezers and the bowl on the coffee table and left to the bathroom, "After that explosion? Traffic will be horrible

**Five minutes later**

Sherlock sat on the coffee table with a basin of warm water next to him. He squeezed the cloth over it, releasing all of the excess water.

"This is going to hurt," he warns her as he places the wet cloth on the wound. Ophelia bit her lips trying her best not to scream. After cleaning off the wound Sherlock place down the cloth and held the tweezers on his hand and starts to take out the glass shards from her skin. While he was taking out the shards Ophelia starts to cry and grab his hand to stop.

Sherlock sighs heavily, "Ophelia."

"It's hurt," she cries.

"Hmmm," this was his reply and continue to take out the glasses.

….

John walks into the main scene of devastation where bricks and dust are scattered all over the road and pavement. John turns and hurries towards 221, where the first floor windows have also been boarded up. A police officer standing outside Speedy's moves to intercept him but John explains, "I live over there." John unlocks the door and goes inside. He races up the stairs.

"Sherlock! Ophelia!"

As he hurries into the living room, his eye is drawn to the boarded-up windows, then to his armchair, but his gaze quickly turns to Sherlock's chair where Sherlock, now dressed and wearing a purple shirt under his jacket, is apparently uninjured and is intermittently plucking the strings of the violin he is holding on his chest while he glares petulantly towards John's chair.

"John," Sherlock looks up at him.

John glance at his armchair and saw Mycroft sitting on it.

"Where's Ophelia?" John asks.

"She's on the couch," said Sherlock as he points his bow at her.

"I saw it on the telly. Are you okay?"

"Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently," said Sherlock as he looks around the flat.

"You might need to check on Ophelia. Apparently she had shattered glass on her left knee," Sherlock informs him.

John quickly goes up to Ophelia and takes a good look on her knee.

"I'm okay John," Ophelia whispers.

John shook his head, "You're going to need stiches. The wound is way too deep, but I don't see any shattered glass."

"Daddy took them out," Ophelia said proudly.

"He did?" John looks at her with disbelief.

Ophelia nods, "He did."

"Still you're still going need stiches."

"I can't," said Sherlock as he plucks his violin.

""Can't"?" Mycroft raised a brow.

"The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time."

"Never mind your usual trivia. This is of national importance."

"How's the diet?" Sherlock asks as he flicks the strings.

"Fine! Perhaps you can get through to him, John."

"What?" John asks as he put on a bandage on Ophelia's knee.

"I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent," Mycroft sighs.

"If you're so keen, why don't you investigate it?" Sherlock asks as if he was ready to attack Mycroft with his violin.

"No-no-no-no-no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so ..."

He trails off as Sherlock, John, and Ophelia were looking at him.

Mycroft smiles humorously, "Well, you don't need to know about that, do you?"

"Besides, a case like this – it requires ... legwork," Mycroft looks at Sherlock with distaste.

Sherlock looks at John who was sitting on the table as he rubs his neck.

"How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?"

"Dad, he slept in the sofa."

"Sofa, Sherlock. It was the sofa."

Both Mycroft and Ophelia point out at the same time.

Sherlock briefly looks at John, "Oh yes, of course."

John looks at them with confusion, "How ...? Oh, never mind!"

"Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became ... pals. What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine." Mycroft gave John a mysterious smile.

"You have no idea," Ophelia utters.

"I'm never bored."

"Good! That's good, isn't it?" Mycroft gives them a wide smile. Mycroft stands up as Sherlock picks up his bow and whips one end through the air in front of him. Picking up a folder which he had put on the table beside him, Mycroft steps forward and offers the folder to his brother but Sherlock just looks back at him stubbornly. Mycroft turns and offers the folder to John instead.

"Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant, found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in," Mycroft explains.

"Jumped in front of a train?"

"Seems the logical assumption."

John smirks, "But."

"But?"

"You wouldn't ask daddy for help if it was an accident," Ophelia points out as she gives her uncle a mysterious smile.

"The M.O.D. is working on a new missile defence system – the Bruce-Partington Programme, it's called. The plans for it were on a memory stick."

John chuckles, "That wasn't very clever."

Sherlock and Ophelia smiles in agreement.

"It's not the only copy," Mycroft points out.

"Oh."

"But it is secret. And missing."

"Top secret?"

"Very. We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands."

Mycroft turns to Sherlock and glares at him, "You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you."

Sherlock raises his violin to his shoulder, ready to play. He looks calmly at his brother, "I'd like to see you try."

Mycroft leans down and gives him a threaten look, "Think it over."

Sherlock stares back at him, unimpressed. Mycroft turns and walks over to John, offering him his hand to shake, "Goodbye John."

John stands as he shakes his hand.

"Would you like me to take Ophelia to hospital for you since I'm on my way to work," Mycroft suggest.

Sherlock shrugs "Do whatever you want with her. "

"Come Ophelia, let's get that wound fixed up," Mycroft smiles at her as Ophelia got up and starts to walk out of the room slowly.

"What about school?" Ophelia asks.

"You can go back after you get your stiches. Now let's go."

Ophelia waves at John and Sherlock goodbye and was now out of their sight.

Sherlock begins to repeatedly play a short irritating sequence of notes. John frowns across to him but Sherlock continues to play until Mycroft has left the room. When Mycroft and Ophelia were gone, John sits on the table and looks at Sherlock with confusion, "Why'd you lie? You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy? " John asks.

Sherlock shrugs, "Why shouldn't I?"

John nods, "Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere. "

Sherlock turns and opens his mouth but before he can deny everything his phone starts to ring. He irritably whips his bow down again, puts it on the seat beside him and fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket, "Sherlock Holmes."

He listens to it for a moment but his expression change with excitement, "Of course. How could I refuse?"

Sherlock turns off the phone and got up from the couch, "Lestrade. I've been summoned. Coming?"

John sighs, "If you want me to."

"Of course," said Sherlock as he picks up his coat, "I'd be lost without my blogger."

"or your daughter," John whispers as he walks out of the flat with Sherlock.


	10. He's Not GAY!

The boys arrive at New Scotland Yard and are following Detective Inspector Lestrade across the general office as he leads them towards his office, "You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones."

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Obviously."

"You've love this. That explosion ..." Sherlock interrupts him.

"Gas Leak, yes?"

Lestrade shook his head, "No."

Sherlock looks at him with confusion, "No?"

"No. Made to look like one," Lestrade explains.

"What?" John asks.

"Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box – a very strong box and inside it was this," said Lestrade as he points at a white envelope that was lying on his desk unharmed.

"You didn't open it?"

"It's addressed to you, isn't it?"

"We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped."

"How reassuring."

Sherlock picks up the envelope and takes it across the room to another table which has an lamp on it. Holding the envelope up close to the bulb he examines both sides carefully. On the front in elegant handwriting are the words "Sherlock Holmes".

"Nice stationery. Bohemian."

"What?" Lestrade looks at him with disbelief.

"From the Czech Republic. No fingerprints?"

"No."

"Where's Ophelia?" Lestrade asks as he looks around his office.

"Obviously, she's not here," Sherlock utters.

"I can see that, where is she?"

"It's none of your business inspector."

"Actually it is since I'm her god-father," Lestrade reminds him.

"Hmm," which was Sherlock's reply.

John steps in between the two men, "She was sent to the hospital."

"Oh gosh really? Is she alright?" Lestrade exclaimed.

John nods, "She's fine, just need to get a couple of stiches."

"Would you two shut up?" Sherlock raised his voice.

Both Lestrade and John shut their mouth and glared at Sherlock for a moment who was still observing the envelope.

"She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duofold, iridium nib."

""She"?" John looks at him with confusion.

"Obviously."

John shifts his head, "Obviously," he whispers.

Sherlock picks up a letter opener from the desk and carefully cuts the envelope open. He looks inside and his mouth opens a little in surprise as he reaches in and takes out a pink iPhone.

John looks at it with shock, "But that's… that's the phone, the pink phone."

"What, from the Study in Pink?" Lestrade asks.

"Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like ..." Sherlock stops when he realized what Lestrade just said.

"The Study in Pink? You read his blog?"

"Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?" said Lestrade as he fold his arms on his chest and looks at him with disbelief while Donovan scoffs.

"It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new," said Sherlock as he ignores Lestrade questions.

"Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership," Sherlock glares at John who was now staring at the floor trying his best to avoid him.

Sherlock switch the phone on and immediately gets voice alert, "You have one new message."

The message plays but there is no. However, five peeps were played and then stopped.

"Is that it?" John asks.

Sherlock shook his head, "No, That's not it."

A photograph has also been uploaded to the phone. He opens it and Lestrade comes across to look over his shoulder. The picture is of an unfurnished room with a fireplace on one wall. The wallpaper is peeling and there's a tall mirror propped up in one corner. A smaller mirror is standing on the mantelpiece.

"What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!" Lestrade yells.

"It's a warning," said Sherlock as he gazes thoughtfully.

"A warning?"

"Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again," Sherlock explains as he takes a good look of the photo once more and starts to leave the office, "And I've seen this place before."

"H-hang on. What's gonna happen again?" John asks as he follows behind him.

Sherlock turns around and raised his arm, "BOOM!"

….

Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Hudson opens the front door of 221C and hands Sherlock a set of keys. Sherlock has been examining the padlock attached to the other door and now takes the keys and begins to unlock it.

"You had a look, didn't you, Sherlock, when you first came to see about your flat?" Mrs. Hudson asks.

Sherlock looks at the keyhole closely, "The door's been opened recently."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, "No, can't be. That's the only key."

"I can't get anyone interested in this flat. It's the damp, I expect. That's the curse of basements."

Sherlock turns the key and pulls the door open. He immediately goes inside and John and Lestrade follow, taking little or no notice of Mrs. Hudson as she continues rambling on, "I had a place once when I was first married. Black mold all up the walls ..." but stopped when the door shut in front of her.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock slowly pushes open the door to the living room and walks inside, followed by the other two. There is a pair of trainers placed neatly in the middle of the floor, their toes pointed towards the door. John stops and looks at them, "Shoes."

Sherlock starts to walk towards them but John holds out a cautionary hand towards him, "He's a bomber, remember."

Sherlock stops for a moment, then continues slowly towards the trainers. He crouches down, then puts his hands on the floor and leans forward. Lowering his body down he moves closer to the shoes and, just as his nose is almost touching them, a phone rings. Sherlock jumps, closes his eyes momentarily and then stands up, pulls off his glove and takes the pink iPhone from his coat pocket and looks at the caller "NUMBER BLOCKED". He pauses for a second, and then answers the phone, "Hello?"

"H-hello ... sexy," said a woman's voice who was now crying.

"Who's this?"

"I've ... sent you ... a little puzzle ... just to say hi," said the woman tearfully.

"Who's talking? Why are you crying?"

"I-I'm not ... crying ... I'm typing ... and this ... stupid ... bitch ... is reading it out."

Sherlock gaze up thoughtfully, "The curtain rises."

John looks at him with confusion, "What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock utters.

"No, what did you mean?"

"I've been expecting this for some time," he explains.

"Twelve hours to solve ... my puzzle, Sherlock … or I'm going ... to be ... so naughty."

…

In St. Barts Sherlock is sitting on the bench looking into the microscope while John is wondering around. Then the door opens and there was limping towards them.

"Hello," she whispers.

"How are you?" John smiles down at her.

Ophelia rub her eyes, "Tired."

"Do you want to sit down?" John asks.

Ophelia nods her head. John grabs a chair nearby; he picks her up and places her on the chair.

"Better?"

Ophelia nods, "What about school?"

"I called your teacher and she said she will give your assignments tomorrow, so you're fine."

"It hurts," Ophelia whimpers as she strokes her knee that was covered with a bandage knee.

John grabs her hand, "Don't touch it, it will make it worst."

Ophelia moans, "You always ruin everything,"

John chuckles, "Sorry,"

"What's daddy doing?" Ophelia looks at her dad with curiosity.

John turns around to face Sherlock, "Honestly I do not know."

"So, who d'you suppose it was?" John walks toward Sherlock.

A text alert interrupted but it did not bother Sherlock, "Hmm?"

"The woman on the phone, the crying woman."

"Oh, she doesn't matter. She's just a hostage. No lead there."

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads."

"You're not going to be much use to her."

"Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?"

"The bomber's too smart," Ophelia utters as she rests her head on the table as if she was trying to sleep.

The same phone as before trills another text alert.

"Pass me my phone," Sherlock demands.

John looks around the room, "Where is it?"

"Jacket."

John straightens up slowly, his entire body going rigid in disbelief Turning to his right, he marches stiffly around the table, slams one hand onto Sherlock's shoulder and crudely pulls his jacket open with the other as he starts to dig in his inside pocket.

"Careful!" Sherlock yells angrily but does not look up at him.

John sighs heavily pulls the phone out and looks at it, "Text from your brother."

"Delete it," Sherlock demands.

John looks at him with disbelief, "Delete it?"

"Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about it."

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important," John points out.

Sherlock raises his head in exasperation, "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?"

"His what?"

"Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?"

Sherlock looks back to the microscope again while John turns off the phone, "Try and remember there's a woman here who might die."

Sherlock looks up, "What for? This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?"

John looks at him disbelief and unmoved. He put his hands on his pocket and felt something on his pocket. He took it out and there was a white envelope address to Sherlock.

"What is that?" Ophelia asks.

"Umm it's for your father; Mrs. Hudson gave it to me before we left. I forgot to give it to you."

Sherlock snatch the envelope for him and was ready to turn it to see who the letter was from, but before he could the computer beeps with results.

"Ah!"

Molly runs into the room, "Any luck?"

"Oh, yes!" said Sherlock triumphantly.

"Molly!" Ophelia sat up with delight.

"Ophelia, you're here!" Molly smiles at her widely.

Ophelia got up from her seat and runs to Molly and give her a huge hug, "I miss you Molly!"

"I miss you too? How are you?"

"I got stiches!" said Ophelia as she points at her bandage knee.

Molly gives her an awkward smile, "Oh… how… sweet."

Ophelia looks behind Molly and saw an awkward man wearing slacks and a T-shirt, comes in the door.

"Who's that?" she points to the man.

Everyone stop what they were doing and was now staring at the awkward man.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't ..."

"Jim! Hi! Come in! Come in!"

Molly makes introductions as Jim closes the door and walks over to her, "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah!"

John turns towards them, and Molly looks at him blankly, "Oh… sorry."

John sighs with disappointment, "John Watson. Hi."

"Hi."

"And Jim this is Ophelia Holmes, she's Sherlock's daughter," said Molly as she place her hands on Ophelia's shoulder.

Ophelia looks up at Jim and smiles widely, "Hello!"

Jim bends down to Ophelia's height and smiles, "Why aren't you the beauty!"

"Thank you,"

Jim dig through his pocket pants and took out a pack of gum.

"Do you like strawberry Ophelia?"

Ophelia nods with delight, "Yes."

"Would you like to have some strawberry flavor gum?"

Ophelia nods, "Yes!"

"Please," John whispers to her.

"Yes, please!" Ophelia corrects herself.

"You look very familiar, I bet you look like your mother," Jim gives her a mysterious smile.

"I don't know what my mother looks like."

"Well, I bet she was beautiful," Jim smiles at Sherlock who was looking at Jim with confusion.

Jim took out a piece of gum and hands it to her. He then gets up and looks at Sherlock, "So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?"

"Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance," Molly giggles nervously.

Sherlock glances briefly round at Jim before returning to look into the microscope, "Gay."

Molly's smile drop, "Sorry what?"

Sherlock raises his head as he realises what he's just done, "Nothing. Um, hey," he gives Jim a fake smile.

Jim also smiles at him, "Hey," Lowering his hand; he knocks a metal dish off the edge of the table and scrambles to pick it up, "Sorry! Sorry!"

Sherlock looks in irritation while Jim puts the dish back on the table and then scratches his arm as he wanders back towards Molly, "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout sixish?"

"Yeah!"

He stops besides her, putting a hand on her back, and looks back towards Sherlock, "Bye."

"Bye," Molly replies softly.

"It was nice to meet you," said Jim as he stare at Sherlock who is ignoring him.

"You too," said John.

Jim blinks at him, looking awkward, then turns and leaves the room. Molly waits until the door closes then turns to Sherlock, "What d'you mean, gay? We're together."

Sherlock looks at her, "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half," Molly glares at him.

"Nuh, three."

"Sherlock," John gives him a warning."  
"He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil ... He's not," said Molly angrily.

Sherlock scoffs, "With that level of personal grooming?"

"Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear," Sherlock points out.

"He's underwear?" both Molly and Ophelia gives him a disgusting look.

"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here... and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain," Sherlock smiles at her.

Molly stares at him for a moment, then turns and runs out of the room. Sherlock looks surprised at her reaction.

"Charming, well done," John said sarcastically.

"Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

"Kinder"? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind."

"You're stupid," Ophelia glares at him as she starts to walks out (or limp) of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sherlock snaps at her.

"I want to go see Molly."

"Molly's fine, but I need you right now."

Ophelia looks at him with confusion, "Daddy wants Ophelia?"

"No, I want the Queen of England yes you."

Ophelia groans and sits back on her chair, "What does daddy want?"

Sherlock smirks and place the shoe in front of her, "I want to hear your deduction."


	11. Carl Power

**_I really want to say how sorry I am it took this long to update! I've been busy with school and work I haven't had the time to write._**

**_So I hope this chapter makes it up._**

**_Thank you everyone who review it!_**

_Sherlock was lying on the couch as he was reading one of his books; he then heard the bedroom door open and saw Isabella walking into the room drunk but was wearing her tight black pants, black shirt, and black leather jacket._

"_Sherlock, I need you to drive me," Isabella said tiredly as she sat on his lap and wrap her arms around his neck._

"_You're drunk," he informs her._

_Isabella scoffs, "I know."_

"_You should go back to bed and rest," he suggests._

_Isabella rests her head on his shoulder, "I need you to take me somewhere."_

"_Where do you want me to take you?"_

"_A house," she whispers._

"_That narrows it down… is it Sebastian's?" he raised a brow._

"_No,"_

"_Then who?"_

"_Just shut up and drive me!" she kissed him on the lips and got up to put on her black high heels._

_Sherlock groans, got up from his seat and puts on his black jacket, "Why do you have to go out this late?"_

_Isabella turns to look at him and gives him a mysterious smile, "Because, the boss ask me too."_

…

John looks at Ophelia then to Sherlock who was giving her a mysterious smile.

"You want her to do her deduction?" John points at Ophelia.

"Actually I want you to start off," said Sherlock as he place the shoes in front of John.

John shook his head, "No."

"Go on."

"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate …" but Sherlock interrupts him, "An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me."

John scoffs, "Yeah, right."

"Really!"

John turns back to him and the two of them stare at each other for a moment, Ultimately John nods unhappily, "Fine."

Clearing his throat, he picks up the shoe and looks at it and its partner lying on the table, "I dunno – they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers."

Sherlock nods, "Good," He looks away and picks up his phone as John continues to look at the trainers.

"Umm ... they're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new ... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while. Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs."

"You're on sparkling form. What else?"

"Well, they're quite big, so a man's."

"But…"

"But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

Sherlock looks at him proudly, "Excellent. What else?"

John looks at the shoes once more and puts them down, "That's it."

"That's it?" Sherlock raised a brow.

John nods, "How did I do?"

"Well, John; really well," Sherlock paused for a moment, "I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know ..."

"Yeah, I did horrible, let Ophelia do her deduction," said John as he hands the shoes to Sherlock who then hands it to Ophelia.

"What can you tell me about the shoes Ophelia?"

Ophelia picks up the shoes and looks at them closely, "The man love the shoes because it's really clean and the laces were changed four times."

Sherlock smiles down at her, "Good."

"Like John said the man is a kid but has big feet… the man had weak arches."

Sherlock nods, "What else?"

Ophelia sighs and place the shoes down, "I don't know."

Sherlock narrow his eyes, "You don't know?"

Ophelia slowly nods her head, "Yes, daddy."

"That is good deduction," John whispers to him.

Sherlock roll his eyes, "I can't believe you two! Look! There are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. The shoes are twenty years old."

"Twenty years old?" John raised a brow.

"They're not retro they're original. Limited edition: two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine. " said Sherlock as he raised his phone to John to see the image.

"But there's still mud on them. They look new," John points out.

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock nods toward the computer screen, "Pollen. Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So what happened to him?"

"Something bad," Ophelia suggests.

Sherlock nods, "He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So: a child with big feet gets ..."Sherlock trails off, staring ahead of himself.

"Oh," he whispers.

"Daddy?" Ophelia asks with concern.

"What?" John looks at them with confusion.

"Carl Powers," Sherlock said softly.

"Sorry, who?"

"Carl Powers, John."

"What is it?"

"It's where I begin."

….

Later, the boys and Ophelia are in the back of a taxi.

"Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid, champion swimmer, came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident," said Sherlock as he shows John an old newspaper photo on his phone.

"You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?"

"But you remember."

Sherlock nods, "Yes."

"Something fishy about it?"

"Nobody thought so – nobody except me. I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers."

"Started young, didn't you?"

"A bit older than Ophelia. The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head."

"What?"

"His shoes."

"Why? Ophelia asks.

"They weren't there. I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes ... until now."

Sherlock has shut himself in the kitchen and is sitting at the table with the trainers nearby – still in the bag –while he looks through photographs and printouts of newspaper reports of Carl Powers' death from 1989. In the living room, on the other side of the closed doors, John and Ophelia pacing back and forth.

"Can I help?"

"Daddy, I'm bored!"

Sherlock doesn't react to them.

"I want to help. There's only five hours left."

"Daddy!"

"SHUT UP!" Sherlock yells at them.

Both John and Ophelia closed their mouth and stood there quietly. Then Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs holding a letter.

"Am I interrupting?" she asks.

John shook his head, "No."

"Doctor Watson, did you give Sherlock the letter?"

John shrugs, "I did and he left it on his desk, luckily I picked it up before we came back," said John as he took out the envelope from his pocket.

"Funny the letter is from prison… maybe one of his clients," Mrs. Hudson looks at the letter with disgust.

"I'll make sure this letter is in his hands this time."

"Good lad, Ophelia why don't we go downstairs eat some of Mrs. Turner's biscuits and watch Jane Eyre?"

Ophelia jumps with delight, "Yes!"

When Mrs. Hudson and Ophelia went downstairs John gets a text alert. He takes his phone off from his pocket and opens the inbox:

**Any developments?**

**Mycroft Holmes**

"It's your brother. He's texting me now," John frowns, "How does he know my number?"

"Must be the root canal," said Sherlock thoughtfully.

John puts his phone away and goes into the kitchen, "Look, he did say 'national importance'."

Sherlock scoffs, "How quaint."

"What is?"

"You are. Queen and country."

"You can't just ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now."

"Right good."

There was an awkward silence between them. John looks at the letter and hands it to Sherlock, "You forgot about this."

"Just put it on the desk," said Sherlock without looking up.

John nods as he puts the letter on the table, "It says it's from HM Prison Holloway, do you know anyone from there?"

Sherlock stops for a moment and slowly looks up at John, "What did you say?"

"Do you anyone from there?"

"No, before that."

John looks at him with confusion, "HM Prison Holloway… is something wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No,"

"Okay… by the way who's your best man?"

Sherlock smirks, "Who do you think John?"

John rolls his eyes, "Of course… I'll see you in an hour," said John as he walks out of the kitchen.

Sherlock smiles drop and quickly grabs the letter, he picks it up slowly and mouth the two words that were written in the envelope:

**Isabella Beaulieu**


	12. Get his attention

Sherlock has moved to the side table in the kitchen and is looking into his microscope. Ophelia sits next to the table as she was doing her homework while Mrs. Hudson comes in through the kitchen door with a tray containing a couple of mugs. As she puts them on the kitchen table, Sherlock looks up, "Poison."

Mrs. Hudson looks at him with confusion, "What you going on about?"

Sherlock slams his hands down on the side table, "Clostridium botulinum!"

Mrs. Hudson cringes and flees the kitchen. Sherlock looks round at John as he comes in from the living room.

"What's that?" Ophelia asks.

"It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!" Sherlock explains to her.

John looks at him blankly, "So?"

"Carl Powers!"

"Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?"

Sherlock stands up and walks over to where he has hung up the laces from the trainers, "Remember the shoelaces?"

John nods his head.

"The boy suffered from eczema. It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns."

"What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?"

"It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it.

He has walked around the table to where his computer notebook is lying. He now begins to type into the message box:

**FOUND. Pair of trainers belonging to Carl Powers (1978-1989).undetectable.**

Sherlock straightens up and points at the shoe laces, "But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet."

Sherlock bends down and starts to type again:

**Botulinum toxin still present. Apply 221b Baker St.**

"That's why they had to go," said Sherlock as he straightens himself up.

"So how do we let the bomber know ..."

But Sherlock cuts him off, "Get his attention ... stop the clock."

"The killer kept the shoes all these years."

"Yes. Meaning."

"He's our bomber," said John.

The pink phone rings on the side table. Sherlock hurries over to it and switches it on, "Well done, you. Come and get me."

"Where are you? Tell us where you are," Sherlock said loudly.

John turns around and saw Ophelia looking at them tiredly "Is it over?"

John smiles as he sits next to her, "It's over… for now."

Ophelia rub her eyes as she yawns, "That's good."

John chuckles, "Go to bed, you have school tomorrow."

Ophelia shook her head, "I don't want to go to school."

"Sorry, but you have no choice."

Ophelia groans, "Please!"

"You already miss one day of school, now go to bed."

Ophelia slowly got out of her chair and starts to walk out of the kitchen, "Goodnight daddy."

But Sherlock didn't respond, he held up his phone and starts texting to Lestrade, to tell him where the women located. Ophelia looks at him with a hurtful expression and slowly walks upstairs, not knowing John was following behind her looking at her with pity.

"John, I suggest you go to bed also, Lestrade wants us in the station in the morning," Sherlock suggest as he walks into the living room.

"Why do you treat her so harshly?"

"Sorry?" Sherlock looks at him with confusion.

"Why do you treat her so harshly, what had she done to be treated like that?"

"It's none of your business," Sherlock uttered as he sits on his armchair.

"Actually it is! I don't understand you at all, one day you will be kind to her then the next day you treat her as if she was nothing to you."

"Her eyes," Sherlock whispers.

"What about her eyes?" John looks at him confusion.

"Her eyes bother me."

John raised a brow, "You treat her harshly because you don't like her eyes?"

Sherlock ignores his questions and starts to walk to his room, "Night John."

John stood in the middle of the living room all by himself trying to process everything Sherlock had told him, but none of it made any sense to him... then again he never understood Sherlock.

The boys are in Lestrade's office, Sherlock standing at the window with his hands raised in front of his mouth and his fingers tapping together. John is sitting opposite Lestrade at his desk.

"She lives in Cornwall. Two men broke in wearing masks, forced her to drive to the car park and decked her out in enough explosives to take down a house. Told her to phone you, she had to read out from this pager."

"And if she deviated by one word, the sniper would set her off," Sherlock whispers.

"Or if you hadn't solved the case," John adds.

"Oh. Elegant," Sherlock whispers to himself.

John raises his head and sighs in exasperation, "Elegant?"

"But what was the point? Why would anyone do this?" Lestrade asks.

Sherlock sighs, "Oh, I can't be the only person in the world that gets bored."

Just then the pink phone beeps a message alert. John turns round to him as he activates the phone, "You have one new message."

As Sherlock walks towards Lestrade's desk, the phone sounds the Greenwich pips again, but this time there are three short pips and one long one.

"Four pips," John points out.

"First test passed, it would seem. Here's the second," Sherlock shows a new photograph to the others. It's a close-up of a car with its driver's door open and the number plate clearly visible. John and Lestrade get up to take a closer look.

"It's abandoned, wouldn't you say?"

"I'll see if it's been reported."

Sergeant Donovan comes to the office holding another phone, "Freak it's for you!"

Sherlock walks over to the door and takes the phone from her. John sits down again and Sherlock walks out into the general office and raises the phone to his ear, "Hello?"

The frightened voice of a young man comes over the phone, "It's okay that you've gone to the police."

"Who is this? Is this you again?" Sherlock asks.

"But don't rely on them. Clever you, guessing about Carl Powers. I never liked him. Carl laughed at me, so I stopped him laughing. "

John comes out of the office and walks closer to Sherlock, looking at him in concern.

"And you've stolen another voice, I presume," Sherlock said sharply.

"This is about you and me."

"Who are you? What's that noise?"

"The sounds of life, Sherlock. But don't worry ... I can soon fix that. You solved my last puzzle in nine hours. This time you have eight," the man said tearfully.

Lestrade walks out of the office and yells, "We've found it!"

Sherlock's phone has gone dead. He turns and follows Lestrade.


	13. Do you love him Mary?

Mary was cleaning the classroom while her students were enjoying their time in recess, she picked the books that were lying in the ground and put them on the bookshelf. She looked out of the window to see her young and energetic students playing outside with smiles on their face. Mary frowned when she saw Ophelia sitting all by herself on the swing; usually Ophelia will play with the other children but not today. Mary puts on her light blue cardigan and walks out of the school building. As she was walking along she greeted by her students who were smiling up at her or waving at her.

"Emma!"

A young blonde hair girl stops what she was doing and looks up at Mary.

"Yes, Ms. Morstan?"

"Why aren't you girls playing with Ophelia?"

All the girls' shrugs, "She said she wanted to be alone."

Mary gave them a quick nod and walks toward to Ophelia who was still looking down at the floor with sadness.

"Ophelia?"

Ophelia looks up at her slowly, "Yes?"

Mary gives her a weak smile, "May I join you?"

Ophelia nods her head and looks back down on the ground.

Mary sits on the empty swing that was next to Ophelia and looks down at her with concern, "Want to tell me what's wrong?"

Ophelia shook her head, "I'm fine."

"You know it's not good to lie."

Ophelia utters, "I know."

"So do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

Ophelia was quiet for a moment but she slowly opens her small mouth, "I think Daddy hates me."

Mary stops swinging and looks at her with unease, "What?"

"I think he hates me… he's always mad at me."

"I don't think he hates you."

"Yes, he does," Ophelia raised her voice as she glares at Mary.

Mary took a deep breath and gives her a weak smile, "No, he doesn't hate you. He's just under a lot of stress; beside he's working on a lot of hard cases."

Ophelia shook her head, "He always hated me since I was little."

"Ophelia, have you ever told your father how you feel?"

Ophelia looks at her with confusion, "No."

"Maybe that's why. If you don't tell him how you feel, how would you expect him not to hurt your feelings?"

Ophelia scoffs, "He never listens to me."

"Then try to get him to listen to you. That is your only way."

"What if he does care?"

Mary smiles and places her hand on Ophelia's small hand, "He does care for you… I think he doesn't know how to show it."

Ophelia smiles and give Mary a hug, "Thank you Ms. Morstan."

Mary closes her eyes and smiles as she pats Ophelia's back, "You're welcome darling."

…

After school Ophelia was still sitting on her desk waiting for her father to pick her up. She looks up at the clock which was hanging above the white board, it was nearly 7 o'clock.

"He's not answering his phone," said Mary who just walked into the room.

"He usually doesn't answer the phone, he prefers to text," Ophelia informs her.

Mary sighs, "I can call John if you want."

Ophelia nods, "Yes, please."

While Mary was punching the numbers Ophelia interrupts her, "Do you read his blog?"

Mary chuckles, "Your father's? No!"

"I mean Johns."

Mary stops and gives her a nervous smile, "What makes you say that?"

Ophelia smiles widely, "Because you said daddy was busy with his cases and only John talks about the cases."

Mary shrugs, "Now and then."

"Do you like him Ms. Morstan?"

Mary looks at her with disbelief, "Excuse me?"

Ophelia rolls her eyes, "Do you like John Ms. Morstan?"

"Ophelia, I don't think it's your business whatever who I like."

"I agree," said a voice behind.

Mary turns around and jumps when she saw John Watson standing right behind her, "Doctor Watson, I… didn't…"

"Sorry, I should've knocked."

Mary smiles, 'No, um... it's fine! Really!"

John gives her a quick smile and then walks toward to Ophelia, "Sorry, Ophelia your father was 'busy' with a case so he forgot…."

Ophelia interrupts him, "Yeah, I know." Ophelia got up from her chair, puts on her backpack and starts to walks out of the room.

"Ophelia, will it be alright if I talk to Doctor Watson for a little bit?"

Ophelia looks at them with confusion, "Why?"

"Just some grown up talk, you just go wait outside alright?"

"Okay, have fun!" Ophelia gives them a mysterious smile and walks out of the room.

"Am I in trouble Ms. Morstan?" John jokes.

Mary chuckles, "Yes, Doctor Watson, you are so in trouble I need to send you to the principal office."

"Haven't heard that since I graduated," John chuckles.

Both Mary and John laughed out loud and trying their best to calm down.

John straighten himself up and clears his throat, "Really, Mrs. Morstan what is it you want to talk about."

Mary smiles drop, "I want to talk about Ophelia's father."

"Yeah, I know he can be annoying sometimes but he's not that bad."

"I know Doctor Watson, but I want to talk about his relationship between Ophelia."

John raised a brow, "Not good?"

Mary shook her head, "No, not good."

"Did Ophelia say something?"

Mary nods her head, "She believes her father hates her."

John shrugs, "I don't blame her."

"Doctor Watson, this is not a good relationship between a parent and a child! Do you know any reason why she would be saying that?"

"A lot actually, he got mad at her for talking to me during the "Study in Pink" case and last night she told him goodnight and he completely ignored her."

"Doctor Watson, I know it is none of my business, but do you know any reason why he is treating her this way?"

"Ms. Morstan I wish I knew… I've been asking him that question and he always replies with "It's none of your business" or "Don't tell me how to raise my own child"."

Mary sighs, "Does he have any idea how much it hurting her feeling? It literally breaks my heart when she told me all this."

"Actually he did give me one reason why he treats her that way."

"And what was the reason?"

"Her eyes," John points out.

Mary looks at him with confusion, "Her eyes?"

John nods, "Her eyes that's it! He said it bothers him."

"Why would her eyes bother him?"

John shook his head, "I wish I knew."

Mary starts circling around the room, "Doctor Watson, do you think it has something to do with Ophelia's mother?"

"I don't know, he doesn't talk about her."

"It's obvious that she got her brown eye* from her mother," Mary points out.

"But, he told me he barely knew her mother. They were both heavily drunk, had a one night stand, he left her, and boom he became a father."

"Something is just not right about it Doctor Watson."

"What is?"

"The entire story."

John raised a brow, "So you think he's lying."

"That's one option," Mary points out.

"What makes you believe that?"

"I don't know, but something is just not right about it."

"Are you guys done talking?" said Ophelia who walks into the room.

"Yes, Ophelia, sorry we were just having a nice chat, "said John as he points at Mary.

"What were you guys talking about?" Ophelia ask with great interest.

"Music!"

"Food!"

Ophelia raised a brow, "Okay…"

"We were talking about if it's true that music has an effect on growing food," Mary lies at her.

Ophelia rolled her eyes, "You two are lame!"

"Sorry if you think so. Now! Let's go home now!" John claps his hand and starts to walk out of the classroom.

"It was nice to have a lovely chat with you Ms. Morstan."

"Just Mary, Doctor Watson," Mary corrects him.

"Then just call me John," John gives her a smile.

"Can we go now!" Ophelia complains.

"Yes, yes, let's go! See you later Mary!" John gives her a quick wink and walks out of the room while Ophelia was dragging his arm.

Mary stood there in the room, she could feel her heart pounding really fast, she felt dizzy and her entire body was shaking.

_"See you later Mary!" _his voice was now echoing her head a million times. She tried to get rid of it but his voice still stuck in her head, but another voice creeps into her head and it was now Ophelia's. _"Do you like John Ms. Morstan?"._

**_*Just let everyone know I changed Ophelia eyes from blue to brown. Sorry :)_**


	14. We need to talk Mr Holmes

**I just want to say I am so sorry it took this long to update! I've been busy with school and work and I also got a cold. Now it is summer break I'll try my best to update more!**

**Thank you for the nice reviews:)**

The next morning after solving Ian Monkford case, the boys and Ophelia are sitting at a table in a cafe. John and Ophelia were eating their breakfast, while Sherlock is drumming his fingers impatiently on the table waiting for the pink phone to ring.

"Feeling better?" Sherlock asks.

John nods his head, "Mmm. You realize we've hardly stopped for breath since this thing started?"

"Yes, I know. Except for Ophelia," Sherlock points out.

"I do help!" Ophelia protests.

"No you haven't! All you ever done are sleep or homework."

"Because you never ask me to help you!"

"I don't need help from a five year old!" Sherlock snaps at her.

The room was now silent. All the costumers were staring at them with curiosity and whisper each other about what they just whitness. John looks at Ophelia who was in edge of tears. He could hear her breath rapidly as she try to hold herself from crying.

Sherlock groans, "Don't cry!"

"I'm not," Ophelia whispers as she wipes the tears from her cheeks.

John looks at Sherlock then to Ophelia, "Sherlock, apologize."

Sherlock looks at him with confusion, "Apologize for what?"

Sherlock shook his head as he stares at the pink phone once more. In the corner of John's eye he saw Ophelia slowly placing her hands on Sherlock's wallet, which was place in front of her, and slowly took out some change and quickly put it in her pocket. John smirks as he drinks his coffee quietly without saying a word. Ophelia got up from her seat, puts on her backpack, and starts to walks toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock yells at her.

Ophelia turns around and glares at him, "School."

Sherlock scoffs, "And how do you plan to get there? You don't even have any money for a cab."

Ophelia dug out some change from her pocket and waves it front of Sherlock which cause him to look through his wallet which he found it empty.

"You stole my money!"

Ophelia gives him a wide smile as she opens the door, "Bye daddy!" and she was out of their sight.

Sherlock sighs heavily as he shoved his wallet into his pocket, "I should have never taught her how to pickpocket people."

"She wouldn't have done that if you were nicer to her," John points out.

"What do you mean "nicer" to her?"

"Well what you did was really hurtful to her, people will talk Sherlock."

"Why should I care what people think?"

"Well Ms. Morstan sees a problem about relationship between Ophelia."

"Morstan?" Sherlock looks at him with confusion.

"Mary Morstan, Ophelia's school teacher."

Sherlock open his mouth with aw, "Oh that Mary… she's boring."

"I think she's a great person to talk to."

"No, you find her interesting because you think she's attractive," said Sherlock as he stares at the pink phone.

"Why do people think I like her? I'm dating Sarah!" John raised his voice.

John calmed down for a moment as he saw Sherlock staring at the pink phone in great thought.

"Has it occurred to you ...?"

"Probably," Sherlock interrupts him.

"No – has it occurred to you that the bomber's playing a game with you? The envelope; breaking into the other flat; the dead kid's shoes – it's all meant for you."

Sherlock smiles slightly, "Yes, I know."

"Is it him, then? Moriarty?"

"Perhaps."

The pink phone beeps a message alert. Sherlock switches it on and it sounds two short Greenwich pips followed by the longer tone, and a photograph of a smiling middle-aged woman appears on the screen.

"That could be anyone."

"Well, it could be, yeah. Lucky for you, I've been more than a little unemployed."

"What do you mean?"

"Lucky for you, Mrs. Hudson, Ophelia and I watch far too much telly."

He stands up and walks over to the counter. Smiling at the woman behind the counter, he picks up a remote control and switches on the small television hung on the wall. The woman from the photograph is on the screen, partway through her make-over show.

The pink phone rings and Sherlock immediately answers it, "Hello?"

An old woman speaks tremulously, "This one ... is a bit ... defective. Sorry. She's blind. This is ... a funny one. I'll give you ... twelve hours. "

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock whispers.

"I like ... to watch you ... dance."

Sherlock lowers the phone and shakes his head at John, then drops the phone onto the table as he turns to look at the TV.

….

Mary was standing near the school gate as she greets her students who were walking pass her.

"Hello Ms. Morstan!" a little girl greeted her.

"Hello, Amber," said Mary as she smiles down at her.

Mary looks up at the street and saw a black cab parked in front of the school. Mary wasn't surprised when she saw Ophelia coming out of the cab all by herself. Ophelia put on her bag and gave some cash to the cabbie driver.

"Hello Ms. Morstan," Ophelia greeted her.

"Ophelia, how many times have I told you not to pickpocket your father?" asked Mary as she crossed her arms on her chest.

Ophelia shrugs, "Daddy was being annoying.

"That doesn't mean you pickpocket his stuff."

"He started it," Ophelia protest.

"What did you guys fight about this time?" Mary raised a brow.

"He told me he didn't need any help from me because I was only 5."

"I don't see anything wrong about that, since his job is dangerous for children your age."

"Daddy hates me," Ophelia frowns as she looks down at the floor.

Mary knelt down in front in Ophelia so she could see her chocolate brown eyes.

"Ophelia, your father doesn't hate you."

"Yes, he does," Ophelia snaps at her.

"Do you want me to talk to your father about this?"

Ophelia shook her head, "No."

"What about John?" Mary suggests.

Again Ophelia shook her head.

"Who do you want me to talk about this?"

"No one," Ophelia whispers.

Before Mary could open her mouth to protest the school bell starts to ring.

"Isn't it time to go to class Ms. Morstan?"

Mary gives her a weak smile and nods, "Yes, hurry go to class or I'll mark you tardy."

Ophelia gave her a quick nod and runs to join her friends.

Mary got up from her knees and took out her cell phone from her pocket. She dials a number and place the phone near her ear, "Mr. Holmes, this is Ms. Morstan Ophelia's school teacher."

"Is there a problem Ms. Morstan?"

"I'm afraid so Mr. Holmes. I was wondering if you could drop by my class after school."

"What is it you want to talk about Ms. Morstan?"

Mary took a deep breath and finally answers, "You, Mr. Holmes."


	15. Why do you hate me daddy

Sherlock was lying in the bed looking up at the dark ceiling, he's entire body was shaking and sweat pouring out of his body. He could hear Isabella singing something in French while she was in the shower. Sherlock shift his eyes to the bathroom, which was open, and saw a knife covered in blood placed on the sink. Then he heard the water stop running and saw Isabella coming out of the shower.

"Well, you're quiet," said Isabella as she puts on her red bathrobe.

"I'm tired," he responded without looking at her.

"Pity, I was hoping we could have a drink before bed."

Isabella walked out of the bathroom and lay next to Sherlock. She could sense Sherlock moving away from her so she placed her hand on his chest to stop him.

"You're shaking," she points out.

"Am I?" Sherlock raised a brow.

Isabella smirks, "Do you know why us serial killers like to be caught?"

Sherlock looks at her with curiosity, "Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, Sherlock: We need an audience."

"But you don't."

"Yet," she gives him a mischievous smile.

"Did you know those people?"

Isabella shook her head, "No."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I was asked to do it darling," said Isabella as plays with Sherlock's black curls.

"You killed their children," Sherlock reminds her.

"So why does that even matter? If I didn't murder does little rascals we would be exposed!"

"We?" Sherlock scoffs at her.

"You must be very curious since you have been asking me a lot of questions."

"Sorry," he mumbled and faced away from her.

Isabella glances up at him and gave him a mysterious smile, "Are you scared of me Sherlock? Is that why you're shaking?"

Sherlock shook his head, "No."

Isabella places her hands on his cheeks and shifts his face so he could look at her, "Listen to me, never let your emotion rule your head, emotions, betray you Sherlock. If you say anyone what we did tonight I will make sure your beautiful neck will be detach from your body…. You understand?" said Isabella as her chocolate brown eyes darken.

Sherlock looks at her with fear but tried to put a brave face and just gave her a nod as an answer.

Isabella smiles and gives him a huge hug, "I knew I could trust you!"

Sherlock stood there frozen as Isabella passionately kisses his neck. He wrapped his arms around her and realized he had become her slave.

…

After school Ophelia was in the classroom all by herself as she stares at a piece of paper that was on her desk. She looked down at the paper and began reading the questions.

How many times a day does your parent say, "I love you," to you?

Does your parent give you a hug or a kiss?

Does your parent ever hit you?

Does your parent pay attention to you?

Does your parent say bad things about you?

Does your parent touch any parts of your body?

When was the last time you spent quality time with your parent?

Do you think your parents personality changed?

Does your parent take good care of you?

If you can ask any question to your parent what will it be?

Ophelia looks up from her paper and see's Mary sitting across from her looking at her with concern.

"What is this?" Ophelia asks her.

"Just some questions I need you to answer."

"Why?"

Mary shrugs, "Well, since you won't tell me what's going on between you and your dad maybe it's better to write about it."

Ophelia nods with agreement, "Okay."

Ophelia pick up her pencil and starts to write. Couple minutes later Ophelia placed down her pencil and slide the paper to Mary, "I'm done. Can I go home now? John is supposed to pick me up soon."

Mary gives her a weak smile, "You are dismissed."

Ophelia jumped out of her chair with delight and ran out of the classroom, "Bye Mrs. Morstan."

When Ophelia was out of her sight Mary picks up the paper and starts to read Ophelia's answers.

Never

Never

No

No, unless it's not boring

Yes

No

I don't remember

I don't know. I didn't get to know him till I was three.

If I'm still alive I think so.

Daddy, why do you hate me? Is it because of my mummy?

Mary stopped when she read, "Because of my mummy?" She never heard Ophelia talking about her mother. Mary got up from her seat and went to the school's office. She went through all the drawers and found Ophelia's file. She opened up and found Ophelia's information.

NAME: OPHELIA CLAIRE HOLMES.

ADDRESS: 221B BAKER STREET

BIRTHDAY: DECEMBER 1, 2005

AGE: 5

FATHER: SHERLOCK HOLMES

MOTHER: AMELIA MURRAY (DECEASED)

EMERGENCY CONTACT 1: MYCROFT HOLMES

EMERGENCY CONTACT 2: JOHN H. WATSON

DO YOU HAVE ACCESS TO INTERNET AT HOME? YES

ANY MEDICAL CONCERNS? ALLERGIC TO NUTS

WHAT EXTRA – CURRICULAR ACTIVITIES DOES YOUR CHILD PARTICIPATE? SOLVING CRIMES.

BEST WAY TO CONTACT YOU? PHONE BUT I PERFFER TO TEXT.

PLACE OF BIRTH: LINDO WING AT ST MARY'S

…..

While walking at the dark street of London, Ophelia looks up at John and realizes something was not right, "What's wrong John?"

John pauses for a moment and looks at Ophelia with confusion, "Sorry what?"

"You look sad John, what's wrong?"

John shook his head, "It's nothing."

"Please! I want to help!"

"Your dad solved a case and the poor women, liked the others, was strapped with a bomb and was killed."

Ophelia's eyes widen, "Why? Why was she killed?"

"She described the bomber,"

"What did she say?"

"I don't know, only your father knows."

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know, he looked shocked when it happened but then again he's Sherlock Holmes how are we supposed to know what he thought during that time."

"I'm his daughter and I don't know what he thinks either."

John laughs at Ophelia's statement and opens the door for her. They both went upstairs and saw Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room while yelling at the phone.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW MYCROFT? YOU TOLD ME YOUR MAN WATCHES HER 24/7 AND HOW THE HELL DID SHE FOUND MY ADDRESS AGAIN?"

There were a couple minutes of silent but it didn't last long.

"LOOK MYCROFT! I DON'T WANT ANY CONNECTION FROM HER! SO FIRE YOUR MEN AND HIRE SOMEONE BETTER TO WATCH HER! I DON'T EVEN CARE HOW MUCH IS COST! JUST HAVE HER STAY AWAY FROM ME AND OPHELIA!"

Sherlock hang up his phone and shoved it in his pocket while he cursed.

"Are you alright?" John asks.

Sherlock spun around quickly and saw John and Ophelia staring at him with concern.

"How long have you been here?" Sherlock barked at them.

"For couple minutes, is everything alright?"

Sherlock nods his head, "Yes, everything is fine."

"It doesn't look alright to me."

"What was that about? Who is it you don't want to be near me?" Ophelia asks with curiosity.

"Just an old client, it's none of your business."

"Well, it is daddy if you said you don't want her to be near me."

"Oh, so you think you're proper genius too," Sherlock mocks at her.

"Sherlock," John gives him a warning.

"You think you're all that smart and think you're all grown up!"

"Sherlock," John raised his voice.

You're not Ophelia! You're just a kid so leave me alone!"

"SHERLOCK THAT IS ENOUGH!" John yells at him.

Sherlock stops and looks at John with confusion, "What?"

John glares at Sherlock, "I think that was enough Sherlock."

Sherlock then looks at Ophelia, her entire body was shaking, her face was all red, and tears streaming down her face.

"Why do you hate me daddy?" she whispers.

Sherlock didn't know what to say, he knew what he said to her was hurtful but he didn't want to her know… not yet.

"I'm not smart? I always have straight A's, I know things that other kids don't….. I did everything to be like you. I don't have a mummy to look after me, talk to me, or to look up to…. You're the only parent I have to look up to." Ophelia explains to him, "but I guess I was wrong."

Ophelia slowly turns around and slowly went up the stairs to go to her room. Sherlock tried to follow after her but John stops him.

"John, let me go talk to her."

"No, I think she needs time to be alone. Beside you have an appointment with Mrs. Morstan."

Sherlock nods his head and slowly walks away from John. When Sherlock was about to go down the stairs he looks at John, "John!"

"Hmmm? John raised a brow.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

John shook his head, "I'm the one you should be apologizing."

"Will you tell her that for me?"

"No, you should be the one telling her that."

Sherlock nods his head and whispers, "Okay."

When Sherlock walks out of the flat he looks up and saw Ophelia's bedroom lights were on. He could see her looking out of the window and they were now facing each other. Ophelia looks at him with a grave face and walks away from the window and turns off the lights. Sherlock felt knives stabbing his heart for he hurt the one person he cares about.

**Next chapter: Sherlock talks to Mary and tells her about Ophelia's mother and why he treats Ophelia horribly. **


	16. The Truth has been told

**_I'm so sorry for taking this long to update! This chapter was really hard to write so I hope you guys will understand! Thank you for the nice reviews :)_**

**_Love you guys_**

**_p.s. we get to see drunk Sherlock in this chapter_**

_And there's no remedy for memory your face is_

_Like a melody, it won't leave my head_

_Your soul is haunting me and telling me_

_That everything is fine_

_But I wish I was dead_

_Every time I close my eyes_

_It's like a dark paradise_

_No one compares to you_

_I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side_

_Every time I close my eyes_

_It's like a dark paradise_

_No one compares to you_

_Dark Paradise- Lana Del Rey_

"Can you explain to me one more time why you want to meet me here?" Mary asks as she raised a brow as she watches Sherlock pouring his fourth beer into his small glass cup.

"I told you…. I want to drink," said Sherlock as he gulps down his beer.

Mary sighs heavily and looks away from him. She received a call from Sherlock two hours ago asking if they could meet at a local pub. It's not that Mary was uncomfortable being there since she goes to the pub every weekend with her friends, but being in a pub with her student parent was a different story. She watched people slow dancing as the song "Dark Paradise" by Lana del Ray was played. Some people were chatting while gulping their drinks and boys teaching young girls how to play pool.

"Mr. Holmes, we've been in this pub almost two hours, just for you to know I have to grade papers that are due tomorrow, so if you have nothing to say to me than I'll leave," Mary warns him and took a gulp of her beer furiously.

Taking a deep breathe Sherlock replies casually, "I hurt her today."

"Who?"

Sherlock looks down and starts to circle his cup as he watches the left over liquid going in circles, "Ophelia."

Mary sighs heavily, "What did you do this time?"

"I said things that I shouldn't have," he utters and drinks the left over beer.

"What did you say to her?"

Before Sherlock could open his mouth to speak he was interrupted by a big young man who was wearing a leather black jacket, worn out jeans, and had his black hair combed back, "Nice to see you again Sherlock!"

"Hello Michael," Sherlock gives him a fake smile.

"I haven't seen you in a while mate? How have you been?"

Sherlock shrugs, "Alright I guess."

"How is your daughter? Her name is Claire right?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Her name is Ophelia. Claire is her middle name."

Michael gave out a loud laugh, "Of course Ophelia! Sorry it's been a while."

Sherlock chuckles, "It's understandable."

Michael notices that Sherlock was sitting next to a beautiful blonde woman and gives him a small shove, "And who is this pretty lady next to you?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes with annoyance, "Mary Morstan, Ophelia's teacher."

Mary gives Michael a wide smile and lend out her hand for a handshake, "It's nice to meet you."

"I didn't expect Sherlock to be with a woman again," said Michael as he accepts Mary hands.

Mary shook her head, "We're not dating."

"Shame! You would be much better than Ophelia's whore mother," said Michael as he starts to drink his beer.

"Whore?" Mary looks at Sherlock with confusion.

"Forget it," said Sherlock as he shouts at the bartender to give him another drink.

"Big slut she was. She used to work as a prostitute at a nearby club," said Michael.

"Michael, drop it," Sherlock hisses at him.

"Really? I was told she was a business woman in New York," said Mary looking at Michael with curiosity.

"That's all rubbish! I wouldn't even call her a woman for what she did. She deserved being locked in that prison cell."

Mary was now looking at Sherlock with confusion, she was told by him that Ophelia's mother, Amelia Carrey, was a business woman in New York and had died in a car crash couple months after Ophelia's birth. Mary sits there looking confused not knowing who to believe.

"What was her name again Sherlock? Wasn't it Isabella or something?"

"Michael, just drop it," Sherlock hissed at him.

"Have you heard from her yet? Last time you told me she sent a letter to your place."

"DON'T BRING UP ABOUT THAT WHORE IN FRONT OF ME! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?" Sherlock yells at him furiously as he throws the glass cup across from the room. Everyone in the pub stops what they were doing and were now staring at Sherlock and Michael who looked like they were ready to pick on a fight.

"Look man I'm sorry," said Michael.

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU? NOT TO BRING UP HER NAME IN FRONT OF ME?"

"Sherlock, I'm sorry! I'm just being curious."

"Mr. Holmes, we should leave now," Mary begs as she grabs his coat from his chair.

Sherlock ignores her and took a step closer to Michael while he glares at him with his icy blue eyes, "Never mention her name in my presence, is that understood? "

Michael looks at him a fear and gives him a quick nod.

"She's dead to me," Sherlock whispers and walks out of the pub by himself.

"I'm terribly sorry!" said Mary as she dash out of the pub to look for Sherlock. It didn't take her to long to find Sherlock. She found him in the street as he sits in the floor while his back was resting on the brick wall. Mary sighs and walks up to him, "You alright?"

Sherlock shook his head, "I feel nauseaaaaaaa…. I… um….haven't drank this much… for a long timeeeeee."

Mary could tell he was now drunk by the way he slurred his words and the rapid breathing. Mary grabs his right arm and pulls him up to stand, "Come on I'll take you home. TAXI!"

….

Mary and Sherlock were now sitting in the back of cabbie silently. Sherlock was resting his head on the glass window while Mary was looking at him concern.

"Stopppp… looking at me…like thatttttt," he utters.

"I'm just being concern," Mary protest.

Sherlock snorts, "Why should you beeeee concern about me?"

Mary shrugs, "Because you're Ophelia's parent."

Sherlock smirk, "You're just helping me so you could see John."

Mary eyes widen, "That is not true! Beside I didn't want to leave you in the street drunk!"

"You know he has a girlfriend right?"

Mary frowns as she nods his head, "I know… I saw them together this morning at the hospital."

"I would preferrr… if he… dated you instead of… herrrrrr," Sherlock murmurs.

"Really? Why"

"Because! I like talking to you! You're smart… her on the other hand… she's annoying."

Mary giggles, "I will take that as a compliment,"

"Whatever," Sherlock mutters.

"Back there what your friend said about Ophelia's mom…" but Sherlock cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

"Yesssss! Everything he said about her is all true!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"That'sss why I treattttt her baddddd."

"Who?" Mary looks at confusion.

"Ophelia!"

Mary shook her head, "I don't understand what you are saying, why do you treat her bad?"

"She reminds me of her motherrrr... mostly her eyes. She has her mother's eyes... I hate them they look like devils eyessssssss," he mutters.

"I don't think you and I are seeing the same eye," said Mary with a cold tone.

"What do you mean?"

"All I see in Ophelia's eyes are innocent and wanting to be loved by her father who clearly neglects her," Mary raised her voice at him.

Sherlock frowns, "I don'tttt neglet herrr."

"You do! You're just to blind to see. She comes to my office every single day crying about how you neglect or say horrible things to her! And now you're saying your hating her because her eyes remind her mother? I'm sorry Mr. Holmes but I think that's poorest excuse I ever heard in my life."

"You don't know what her mother has done," said Sherlock as he glares at her with his deep blue eyes.

"What did she do to be arrested?"

Sherlock looks away from her and stares out at the dark sky, "It's none of your business."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," said Mary looking disappointment for not getting any more information about Isabella, but she could sense there was something Sherlock was hiding something from the world.

"Here you go ma'am! 221B Baker Street," said the cabbie driver.

Mary gives him a quick smile and hands some cash to the driver, "Thank you."

Mary walks out of the cabbie and went on the other side to open the door for Sherlock, "Can you walk?"

Sherlock nods his head, "Of course I can!"

But Mary could tell it was all the drunkenness talking as she saw Sherlock's leg start to shake, "I don't think so."

She let him wrap his arm around her shoulder as she slowly guides him to the front door. She rang the doorbell hoping someone will open the door. After standing there for about three minutes, while Sherlock was starting to talk nonsense into her ear, the black door finally opened.

"Mary, why are you…. Oh gosh what happened?"

"He drank four bottles of beer… John can you please give me a hand? I'm going to drop him," she begs.

John gives her a quick nod and helps her carry Sherlock up the stairs, walk to Sherlock's room, and throw him on his bed.

"Isa… Isa," Sherlock starts to mumble.

"I never seen him drunk before," said John as he put a blanket on top of Sherlock.

"Neither have I," Mary whispers.

"I'll go to the kitchen to give him a glass of water."

Mary nods her head, "Good idea."

John left the room leaving Mary alone with Sherlock. She took a deep breath and decided to follow John to the kitchen, but was stopped when she felt Sherlock grabbing her hand firmly.

"Mary…. Mary," Sherlock whispers for her name.

"Yes?"

"Don'ttttt telllll John about Isabellaaaaaaaa."

Mary gives him a quick nod and whispers, "I promise."

**NEXT CHAPTER: SHERLOCK MEETS ISABELLA AGAIN! **


	17. You Can't Kill Me Love

Suddenly a bright piercing stream of light exploded in Sherlock's face. Blinded by its brightness Sherlock starts to groan and simply roll out of his bed and lands on the hard wooden floor. Sherlock forces himself to sit up and starts to scratch his head, "How long have I've been asleep," Sherlock thought as he looks around the room. He got up from the floor and slowly walks out of the room and saw John sitting in his armchair while reading the morning paper.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asks as he rests his back on the wall.

"Eight in the morning," said John as he looks up from his morning paper to look at Sherlock, "Sleep well?"

"What happened to me?" Sherlock utters.

"You and Mary went for a drink and you came home drunk," John reminds him.

"I did?" Sherlock looks at him with confusion.

"You don't remember anything that happened to you last night?" John looks at him with disbelief.

Sherlock shook his head, "No."

Sherlock looks around the empty flat and realized Ophelia was nowhere to be seen, "Where's Ophelia?"

"She's at school. I hope you don't mind that I took her there."

"No, it's fine… how was she?"

"She was awfully quiet today," said John as he places down the paper.

"Did she say anything about me?"

John nods his head, "She did… she asked me if you were drunk."

Sherlock sighs heavily as he went to sit on his favorite armchair, "What did you tell her?"

"I told her you were just sleeping in, but she knew you were drunk last night saying this was not the first time you came home drunk."

"I see," said Sherlock as he took out the pink phone from his pocket and put it on the left arm of the chair.

'We're you an alcoholic before?" John asks

Sherlock ignores him as he picks up the remote and turns on the TV. On the TV, the picture shows a high-rise block of flats and the headline at the bottom of the screen reads, "12 dead in gas explosion". The picture moves to a close-up, showing a corner of the building many floors up which has been torn open and exposed to the air.

"The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people ..."

"Old block of flats," said John as he glance over his shoulder to Sherlock.

"... is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company ..."

"He certainly gets about," said John.

"Well, obviously I lost that round, although technically I did solve the case," said Sherlock as he picks up the remote control and mute the volume. He places down the remote control and looks thoughtfully in a distance.

"He killed the old lady because she started to describe him," he raises a finger on his other hand, "Just once; he put himself in the firing line."

John looks at Sherlock with confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organizes these things but no-one ever has direct contact," Sherlock explains.

"What ... like the Connie Prince murder? He…he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?"

"Novel," Sherlock whispers.

John turned to his shoulder to look at Sherlock, who is looking down at the pink phone, "Taking his time this time."

John looks away, clearing his throat uncomfortably, "Anything on the Carl Powers case?"

Sherlock shook his head, "Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection."

"Maybe the killer was older than Carl?"

"The thought had occurred."

"So why's he doing this, then? Playing this game with you? Do you think he wants to be caught?"

Sherlock presses his fingertips together in front of his mouth and smirks, "I think he wants to be distracted."

"I hope you'll be very happy together," said John as he laughs humorlessly as he gets out of his chair and heads towards the kitchen.

Sherlock sit there for a moment looking confused about John's comment, "Sorry what?"

John turns back, furious, and leans his hands on the back of his chair, "There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives… Just - just so I know, do you care about that at all?"

"Will caring about them help save them?"

John shook his head, "Nope."

"Then I'll continue not to make that mistake."

"And you find that easy, do you?" John asks.

"Yes, very. Is that news to you?" said Sherlock as he narrows his eyes.

John smiles bitterly, "No… if it was Ophelia who was strapped with a bomb and a gun pointing at her heart will still act you don't care?"

Sherlock drop his hands on his lap and was now glaring at John, "Yes," he whispers.

"You're such a great father," said John sarcastically.

"I've disappointed you."

"That's good... that's a good deduction, yeah," said John as he smiles angrily and points at him sarcastically.

"Don't make people into heroes, John. Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them."

Sherlock got up from his seat and was now heading toward the door.

"I don't understand why you wanted to raise Ophelia in the first place!" John raises his voice.

Sherlock stops in front of the door not moving an inch of his body.

"Ever since I moved in here you've been hurting her emotionally. You could have chosen not to raise her but some reason you did."

"I didn't have a choice," Sherlock whispers angrily and storms out of the flat. Sherlock took out his phone and starts to dial a number. He places his phone near his ear and was waiting for the call to be answered.

"What now Sherlock? I'm in a meeting," Mycroft answered firmly.

"Mycroft, I need to meet the bitch."

…..

Sherlock was now in the visiting center at the HM Prison Holloway, the vising center was bright and had pictures that were made from children hanging on the wall. Sherlock was sitting on a white chair and starts to look at the room with boredom and starts to tap his fingers on the white table. He then heard the door open and he turns around to see who just walked in the room. He saw a young guard walking as he was followed by a young woman who looked at Sherlock with a mischievous smile, "Hello Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't say anything but continued to looks at her with no interest. Sherlock could tell she hasn't changed at her, her loosely curled black hair touched her back, skin that was pale as snow, and her chocolate brown eyes were staring at his grey eyes as if she was eating his soul. She turns around quickly and was smiling up at the young guard, "Thank you George."

"Will I see you tonight?" the young man asks as he looks at her with excitement.

The woman took a step closer to the guard and places her lips near his ears, "Tonight in my cell," she whispers. She backs away slowly and presses her red lips onto his. Sherlock's mind whirling with thoughts that only made him assume the worst. Anger swirled like a red tide within him, rising to choke him and his hands automatically curling into fists on his lap. The "feeling" of jealously was slowly growing into his skin making his eyes go dark and his mouth become a straight line.

"Do I need to report this?" Sherlock raised his voice.

The two couple backed away from each other and Isabella narrow her eyes at Sherlock, "Sorry Darling, I hope you're not feeling jealous."

The young man walks out of the room leaving Isabella and Sherlock all alone.

"Isn't he dashing?" Isabella smiles at him as she twirls her hair.

"I see you've been busy here," said Sherlock without showing any emotions.

Isabella walks towards him and sits on the chair that was across from him, "I have."

She took out a box of cigarettes from her pocket and places a cigarette into her mouth, "Do you have a lighter?"

"I don't smoke."

"I know you don't but that doesn't mean you don't carry a lighter."

Sherlock smirks at her as he takes out a red lighter from his pocket and lights the cigarette for her.

"Thanks," said Isabella as she huffs out some smoke, "Why are you here?"

Sherlock takes out a worn out envelope from his pocket and slams it on the table, "How did you know where we live?"

Isabella took out the cigarette from her mouth and huff out some smoke, "You should know the homeless network is not always on your side," she whispers.

"You promised to leave us alone," he reminds her.

"And you promised me you wouldn't tell anyone what we did!" she hissed at him.

Sherlock pursed his lips in disgust and looks away from her, while Isabella smirk knowing she had beat him. She huff out more smoke and smiles up at Sherlock, "So how is our Ophelia?"

"It's none of your business," Sherlock said calmly.

"Actually it is my business how my daughter is doing because I am her mother,"

"You are not her mother," Sherlock hissed at her angrily.

Isabella leans forward and Sherlock could see the dark shadows on her eyes, "I gave birth to her," she whispers.

Sherlock frowns, "Just because you gave birth to her doesn't mean you are her mother."

Isabella tilts her head as she chuckls, "So you think if a mother raised her child she is consider a mother?"

Sherlock ignores her statement and shifts his eyes to look away from her but he could sense she was still looking at him.

"How is she?"

"Fine."

"Liar," she whispers.

Sherlock slowly turns his face and saw her bloodshot eyes glaring at the man before her.

"You've been hurting her by calling her stupid!" she yells at him.

"How did you know," Sherlock reacted with confusion.

Isabella smirks, "I told you, the homeless network is not always on your side."

Sherlock smiled slightly, "And you think you can raise her better than me?"

Isabella gives him a mysterious smile, "At least I can provide her with love."

"Love, is that a word they been brain washing you in here?"

"At least I know what it is."

Sherlock leans forward and narrow his grey eyes, "You murder those children that night and you think you could raise a child?"

"You were there at that night too… remember? You were helping me," she whispers.

"I didn't know you were going to murder them!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"You could've avoid it happening, you could of stopped me and let them escape but you didn't… you were also enjoying it," she smirks.

Sherlock knock the table to the ground and ran towards her and places his two large hands on her throat and when Isabella saw how he reacts she gave out a loud laugh, "What are you going to do Sherlock? Kill me?"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!" he screams at her.

"I will," she whispers.

Sherlock grip her throat tightly, "I can kill you right now and nobody will you know you exist," he hissed at her.

"And how will Ophelia will react when she finds out her own father killing her own mother?" she raised a brow.

Sherlock shook his head, "She will understand!"

She rests her head back and slowly closed her eyes as if she was not afraid to meet death, "Go ahead kill me."

Sherlock's hands start to shake and slowly let go of her long slim neck. He felt her soft small hands on his cheek and looked down to see her smiling up at him, "Would you like to know a secret Sherlock?"

She slowly got up from her seat and places her lips close to his ear, "You can't kill me. I created you… I made you the man you are now," she whispers, "I am your master."

Sherlock turn his face away from her to avoid her but was stopped when he felt her soft fingertips in his lips, "It must be so hard for you to not have any sexual interaction for six years."

"I'm fine," he answered roughly.

Isabella shook her head as she stroke his right cheek softly, "No, you're not."

"Stop it," he demanded quietly.

But it was too late she was kissing him, standing on her tiptoe as her hands were now resting on his hard chest. He didn't like it, he wanted to move away from her and go back to the flat and solved the fun case but he couldn't.

He was addicted to her.


	18. I Hate You

**I am really really really sorry for not updating. I was having a hard time writing this chapter, but I promise to update weekly.**

**For those who are wondering yes I am planning to finish "A Promise We Couldn't Keep".**

**Hope you guys like this chapter!**

They were now the end of the room and Isabella back was slammed against the wall, Isabella groaned a little but was distracted by his kiss. She could feel his warmth breathe on her neck and his hot wet lips touching her bare skin.

"Sherlock…" she whispers to his ears. She has slept and kissed different kind of men for the last 15 years of her life, but no one was good as Sherlock. He was always her favorite because they were alike… they were two lost souls yearning for each other. She could feel his large hands on her waist while she wraps her arms around his neck. He held her leg as she hooked it up to his waist, pulling her closer and kissed her lips deeply. He stops as he starts releasing a shaky breath and his eyes widen when he realized what he had done. Isabella looks at him with curiosity as she drop her feet to the floor, "Sherlock… sweetheart?"

"Don't touch me!" he yells as he backs away from her.

"Sherlock…" she whispers as she took a step closer to him.

"Don't even come near me," he hissed as he faces away from her.

"Look at us… higher than the beasts, lower than the angels, stuck in our idiot Eden," said Isabella as her eyes darken.

Sherlock ignores her comment and quickly went across the room to grab his jacket and scarf so he could get away from her, she grabs his arm and turns him to look at her.

"Sherlock, let me see Ophelia! I'll do anything! You can hit me, kick me, call me names, or send me away. She doesn't need to know I'm her mother, just let me see her… please." she begged as tears were running down her cheeks.

"You don't deserve to see her," said Sherlock as he pushes away from her.

"Sherlock! Please!" she continues to beg.

"No." Sherlock replied briefly and then turned on his heel and began walking away from her

"I HATE YOU! I WISH I HAD KILLED YOU WHEN I HAD GOTTEN THE CHANCE!" she yells at him furiously.

Sherlock turns around and looks at her for a moment, "But you couldn't."

Isabella looks at him with hatred, "No, I couldn't."

"You should never let your heart rule your head," Sherlock gives her a small smirk as he opens the door. Isabella grabs a cup from the table and throws it at his direction. The cub hits the wall and was shattered into pieces.

"I HATE YOU!"

As he walked in the dark halls he could still hear her scream echoing around him.

…..

Sherlock continued walking along the streets of London, ending up near 221B, as he thought about what Isabella had just asked him. He knew a child should know who their mother's are, but he didn't want Ophelia to know about her mother. Ophelia's has gone through a lot of hard times and knowing about her mother being a murderer is worst enough.

_It'll be better to live in a lie _Sherlock thought.

Sherlock's phone went off he took out his phone from his pocket and answers his phone, "hello?"

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN! I'VE BEEN CALLING YOU 10 TIMES ALREADY!" John yells furiously.

"What's wrong?"

"Ophelia is missing."

Sherlock straighten himself, "What?"

"I just got a call from Mary she said Ophelia never came back to class after her lunch break.. oh gosh Sherlock."

"Where are you?" Sherlock asks.

"I'm at Scotland Yard with Lestrade."

"I'll be there soon,"

Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket then later raises his arm to raise a taxi. While doing so he heard a message alert from the pink phone, he takes out the pink phone from his pocket and stares at it for a moment. The phone sounds one short pip and the long tone, and a photograph appears showing a river bank.

"View of the Thames. South Bank… somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo," whispers to himself.

He reaches into his jacket for his own phone and starts searching:

**Thames**

**+ High Tide**

**+ Riverside**

After find nothing Sherlock later changes his search to:

Sherlock switches to a search for

Local News

Greenwich

Waterloo

Battersea

Sherlock looks exasperated as he finds no helpful information in the reports, "Nothing," Sherlock hissed. He hits a speed dial and the phone begins to ring out. As soon as it is answered he starts talking, "It's me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?" On the south bank of the River Thames, the tide has receded to reveal the body of a large man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, black socks and no shoes. Later, as the police and forensics officer's work at the scene, our boys arrive. Sherlock is pulling on a pair of latex gloves while Lestrade is waiting beside the body.

"Shouldn't we be looking for Ophelia?" Lestrade asks.

"The bomber has her so there's no point looking for her," said Sherlock as he looks at the dead body in front of him.

"What?" Both Lestrade and John exclaim.

"You heard me the bomber has Ophelia," Sherlock muttered.

"Your daughter is kidnapped and might be strapped with a bomb and all you care about is a dead body?" said John as he looks at Sherlock with disbelief.

"If I solve this case I can get her back," Sherlock explains.

"What if you don't? What if she ends up dead like the old lady from yesterday?"

"That won't happen as long she doesn't describe the bomber."

"Do you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?" Lestrade asks.

"Must be. Odd, though... he hasn't been in touch," said Sherlock as he holds up the pink phone.

Sherlock steps back and takes a long look at the man's body which is now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.

"Any Ideas?" Lestrade asks.

"Seven ... so far."


	19. I don't know where I am

Ophelia opened her eyes and sat up. Her head turned back and forth, up and down. As the fear gripped her body, her breath became shaky. The room was dark and empty and had some little light from the windows, but she didn't know where she was. She had deduce by the state of the room she was in an abandon building but exactly where? When she tried to get up she felt a lot of weight from her body, she looks down and saw she was strapped with a bomb, she tried to take them off but it was no use the bombs were tied to her body tightly.

"Somebody please help me!" she screamed with terror. She got up from the floor and starts spinning around to see if there was any place she could escape, she spotted a door behind her and starts dashing towards it but when she tried to turn the handle it was lock.

"Is anyone there?" she yelled as she bangs the door with her small fist.

"Please! I don't know where I am!"

She continues to bang the door until bruises were forming on her fist when she realize she was alone she slams her back on the door and slowly sat on the floor and covers her face with her hands and starts to sob. All the sudden she heard a phone ringing from a distance, she raised her head slowly and looks at the dark hall with disbelief.

"Hello! Is anyone there?" she cried out.

The phone continues to ring, Ophelia got up from the floor and follows where the sound was coming from. She found herself in an empty room but in the ground there was a pink phone. Ophelia looks at it with curiosity and picks the phone from the ground. It was the exact same pink phone that her father carried around. She turns on the phone and saw there was 1 inbox. She opens the inbox and reads the message.

**TAKE OUT THE PAGER FROM YOUR POCKET.**

"I don't have a pager," said Ophelia as she looks at the text message with confusion.

**CHECK YOUR POCKET.**

Ophelia put her hand on her jacket pocket and felt something small and hard. She took the item out and saw she was holding a gray pager.

"Who are you?" Ophelia yelled angrily.

The pager was turned on and a message popped up: **MY NAME IS MORARITY.**

"Why are you doing this?"

**I WANT TO WATCH YOUR DADDY DANCE**

"What do you want from me?" Ophelia whispers.

**I WANT YOU TO CALL YOUR DADDY.**

"Why should I listen?"

**IF YOU DON'T I MIGHT AS WELL BLOW YOU UP.**

Ophelia looks at the message with terror she remembered last night when John told her about one of the victims was blown up. She looks down in horror as she sees a red laser point on the bomb. Ophelia turns on the phone and starts to dial her father's number. She places the phone near her ear as she continues to read the messages from Moriarity.

**DO AS I SAY!**

"The painting is a fake," Sherlock yells.

Ophelia looks down at the pager.

**DON'T SAY ANYTHING!**

There's a faint sound of breathing over the speaker but otherwise there is no response.

"It's a fake. That's why Woodbridge and Cairns were killed. Oh, come on. Proving it's just the detail. The painting is a fake. I've solved it. I've figured it out. It's a fake! That's the answer. That's why they were killed. "

**DON'T SAY ANYTHING!**

When the phone remains silent, Sherlock takes a deep breath to calm himself, "Okay, I'll prove it. Give me time. Will you give me time?"

**COUNT DOWN TO TEN**

Ophelia took a deep breathe, "Ten…"

"It's a kid. Oh, God, it's a kid!" Lestrade yells.

"Wait, that's Ophelia! What did she say?" John asks.

"Ten" said Sherlock as looks at the fake painting with panic.

"Nine…"

"It's a countdown. He's giving me time," said Sherlock as he narrows his eyes and scan every inch of the painting.

"The painting is a fake, but how can I prove it? How? How?" Sherlock yells.

"Eight."

Sherlock turns around and was now glaring at Miss Wenceslas, "My daughter will die. Tell me why the painting is a fake. Tell me!"

Miss Wenceslas flinches and opens her mouth, but Sherlock immediately holds up his hand to stop her.

"Seven."

"No, shut up. Don't say anything. It only works if I figure it out."

He turns back to the painting again. Unable to stand the tension, John turns and walks away a few paces.

"Must be possible. Must be staring me in the face," said Sherlock as he continues to scan the painting.

"Six."

"Come on," John whispers.

"Woodbridge knew, but how?"

**COUNT FASTER**

"Five."

"She's speeding up!" Lestrade points out.

"Sherlock!" John says urgently.

Sherlock's gaze falls on three tiny dots of paint in the night sky. His mouth falls open as the penny finally drops, "OH!"

"Four."

"In the planetarium! You heard it too. Oh, that is brilliant! That is gorgeous!" said Sherlock as he turns around shoves the pink phone into John's hands, he walks away from the painting, grinning as he pulls out his own phone from his pocket.

"Three."

"What's brilliant? What is?" John looks at him with confusion.

"This is beautiful. I love this!" said Sherlock as he turns around to join the others while he laugh with delight.

"Two."

"Sherlock!" John yells furiously.

Sherlock grabs the pink phone from John and yells into it, "The Van Buren Supernova!"

"Did he get it right?" Ophelia asks as her entire body shakes.

**YES, TELL HIM TO PICK YOU UP.**

"Daddy!" Ophelia screams on the phone.

Sherlock sighs with relief, "Ophelia, are you alright?"

"Yes," said Ophelia as she sobs.

"Ophelia, where are you?"

Ophelia looks around the room with fear, "I don't know… I don't know where I am."

Ophelia looks up at the screen.

**YOU'RE IN THE BASEMENT**

"I'm in the basement!" she yells.

"Ophelia stay exactly where you are!" Sherlock demands.

Sherlock turns to Lestrade, "She's in the basement go and find her." Sherlock gives John a long look then turns and points to one of the dots in the sky of the painting.

"The Van Buren Supernova, so-called. Exploding star, only appeared in the sky in eighteen fifty-eight."

He turns and throws her a triumphant look, then walks away. John drags in a relieved breath, then walks closer to look at the painting, "So how could it have been painted in the sixteen forties?"

He grins over his shoulder at Miss Wenceslas, and then looks back to the picture again. His phone trills a text alert, "Oh."

He digs out his phone, still breathing heavily, and looks at the message which reads:

**My patience is**

**wearing thin.**

**Mycroft Holmes**

He growls slightly, then looks up at the painting one last time, "Oh, Sher…" said John as he follows Sherlock.

"John, go with Lestrade and get Ophelia," said Sherlock without turning his back.

"What? Why me?" John asks.

"I'm busy," Sherlock utters.

"You're busy! She just got kidnapped!" John yells at him.

"It's not the first time."

"She was strapped with a bomb!"

Sherlock sighs with annoyance, "She's alive because I solved the case."

"So what should I tell her when she doesn't see you? Sorry Ophelia your father isn't here because your father is busy having fun."

Sherlock turns around and was now glaring at John, "It isn't like that!"

"Really?"

"After I hurt her last night… I don't think I deserve to see her."

John looks at him with concern, "You're her father you deserve to see her."

Before Sherlock could open his mouth he was cut off my Lestrade, "We found her!"

Sherlock and John turns around and saw Ophelia walking toward them as she held onto Lestrade's hand. Her hair was tangled, eyes puffy red, her clothes covered with dirt, and had an orange shock blanket on her shoulder.

"She's in shock but I think she'll be fine," said Lestrade.

Sherlock looks at Ophelia who was also looking at him but with fear.

"I… um… you did good," said Sherlock.

Ophelia wraps her arms around her father's waist and hid her face onto his stomach and started to cry. Sherlock stroke her long curly black hair and whispers, "You're safe now."

Next Chapter: Sherlock tries to bond with Ophelia :)


	20. Ice-Cream shop

Ophelia was sleeping on her bed after being exhausted from her rescue and luckily it was Saturday which meant she could sleep for an extra hour.

"Ophelia, wake up," said Sherlock as he pull the covers away from her.

Ophelia groans, "No!"

"Wake up!"

"Leave me alone!" Ophelia yells as she tries to grab the covers from him.

"You've been asleep for 6 hours!" Sherlock complains.

"Daddy, it's Saturday," Ophelia reminds him as she rest her head on the pillow.

"Get dress we're going somewhere," said Sherlock as he walks out of the room.

"Where are we going?" Ophelia yells.

Sherlock didn't reply and continue to walk away while Ophelia struggles to get out of her bed.

…..

"Where are we going daddy?" Ophelia asks as she looks out of the cab window with excitement.

"Just wait and see," said Sherlock as he was searching something through his phone.

"You are being nice to me. Why are you being nice to me?" Ophelia raised a brow.

"Why are you being so suspicious?"

"Because you are not being mean to me."

"Have I always been mean to you?"

Ophelia frowns, "All the time."

"Ophelia… I'm…" "Here you are chaps. Boulstridge's Ice Cream shop," the cab driver interrupts. Sherlock took out some cash from his wallet while Ophelia quickly got out of the cab and looks at the ice cream shop with amazement.

"Let's go Ophelia," said Sherlock as he held unto her hand. When Sherlock opens the door to the shop Ophelia's eyes widen. The color of the walls in the shop are gold, the front desk made out of the dark wood, and had a red banner that said, "Welcome to Boulstridege's Ice Cream Shop".

"Wow!" said Ophelia with amazement.

"It's just an Ice-Cream shop," Sherlock utters.

"But it's beautiful! Daddy, do you think they would have cookie-dough flavor?"

Sherlock smirks, "I'm pretty sure they do."

Sherlock and Ophelia went up to the young woman, who was standing behind the cashier, "Welcome to Boulstridge's Ice-Cream Shop! What would you like to order?"

"One small cookie dough flavor," said Sherlock as he took out his card from his wallet.

"Is that all?"

"Is your manager here?"

The cashier nodded, "Yes, he's in a back. Would you like me to call for him?"

Sherlock nods, "Tell him Sherlock Holmes would like to see him."

"Okay and here is your ice-cream," the young woman hands him a small cup filled with cookie dough ice-cream.

Sherlock grabs the ice-cream and hands it to Ophelia, "Here you go."

"Thank you daddy!" said Ophelia.

…..

Ophelia and Sherlock were sitting at a table in the empty Ice-Cream shop. Sherlock was silently watching his little five year old enjoying her ice cream.

"How's school?" Sherlock asks.

Ophelia shrugs, "Boring."

Sherlock smirks, "What makes you say that?"

"Because I already know the stuff they're teaching."

"What are you learning?"

"Add and subtraction."

Sherlock snorts, "Dull."

"Daddy, why did you bring me here?"

Sherlock shrugs, "Because I know you like ice-cream."

"But why here? There are a lot of ice-cream shops in London," Ophelia points out.

"Because I used to come here when I was your age," said Sherlock as he gives her a sad smile.

"Sherlock Holmes?" a man yells behind.

Sherlock turns around and smiles, "Hello Charlie," he got up from his seat and pull his hand out for a handshake. The old man offers the handshake and sat next to Sherlock and Ophelia, "I can't believe it! I haven't seen you since you were 10! How are you mate?"

"Good. Charlie this is my daughter Ophelia," said Sherlock as he gestures his hands towards Ophelia.

Ophelia smiles shyly, "Hello."

The man looks at Sherlock and Ophelia with disbelief, "I've heard you had a daughter Sherlock, but I didn't expect her to be this beautiful."

"Thank you," said Ophelia.

"I'll be right back, I need to get something," said Charlie as he got up from his seat and was talking to the cashier.

"Old friend?" Ophelia asks as she ate her ice-cream.

Sherlock nods, "Family friend."

Ophelia looks out the window and saw there were a group of kids playing in the street Ophelia smiles widely when she recognize one of the girls, "That's Emma!"

"Hmm?"

"She's my friend from school! Can I play with her daddy? Please!" Ophelia begs.

Sherlock chuckles, "Fine, don't go too far."

"Thank you daddy!" said Ophelia as she got out from her seat and gave her a dad a peck on the cheek and ran out of the shop.

"You know I never thought Sherlock Holmes would bring his own child to my shop. I've always imagine it would be Mycroft, by the way he still comes here during lunch."

Sherlock roll his eyes, "Obviously."

"Here you go," said Charlie as he places down a chocolate ice-cream with sprinkles in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock raised a brow, "I didn't order."

"I know, but that's the one you always order when you visited here."

"That was a long time ago Charlie."

"I know and I'm sorry about your parents' divorce," said Charlie as he sits across from Sherlock.

"Its fine." said Sherlock as he trailed off.

"What happened?"

"I caused the divorce."

"You couldn't have," said Charlie as he looks at Sherlock with disbelief.

"I hated my father… I wanted to get rid of him."

"But you always look happy around him."

Sherlock gives him a sad smile, "It was all an act."

"Sherlock, what did your father do to make you hate him so much?" Charlie asks as he looks at Sherlock with concern.

"He…um..." Sherlock trailed off not knowing what to say.

Charlie raised his hand to stop him, "You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to."

Sherlock smiles sadly, "Thanks Charlie." Sherlock looks out the window and saw Ophelia playing happily with the other children in the street. Sherlock never understood where Ophelia got her kind and innocent personality; because it was something she did not inherit from both of her parents.

"She's so different from me. Sometimes I wonder if she's even my child," Sherlock chuckles.

"I can tell you she is definitely your daughter."

Sherlock raised a brow, "How so?"

"She has the same energetic and innocent personality you had at her age."

Sherlock frowns, "Hmm… I don't remember."

"Trust me you were," Charlie winks at him.

"Sometimes I'm scared I've become like my father… I don't treat her well as I should, but I want to show her the world isn't beautiful as she sees it."

"Sherlock, trust me you are nothing like your father. You're right the world isn't that beautiful, but what is wrong letting them see a different view? You know being a father for nearly 30 years it's not easy to raise a child, but you learn something about yourself more."

Sherlock snorts, "I doubt it."

"Does she know about her mother?" Charlie whispers.

Sherlock looks at him with alarm, "How did you know about her mother?"

"Mycroft told me."

"He never keeps his big mouth shut," Sherlock hissed.

"I'm guessing she still doesn't know."

"It'll be better if she doesn't know about Isabella."

"If she finds out what will you do?"

"She will never know. Mycroft hid all of Isabella records."

"But what if someone who knew Isabella tells Ophelia the truth?"

Before Sherlock could make another excuse he heard Ophelia dashing into the Ice-Cream shop, "Daddy, a stranger gave me this! Can we keep him?" said Ophelia as she held a little brown puppy in her arms.

"Absolutely not!" Sherlock raised his voice.

Ophelia looks at him with her sad puppy eyes, "Daddy, please! I've always wanted a puppy."

Sherlock sighs, "Fine, but you have to take good care of it."

Ophelia jumps with excitement, "Thank you daddy!"

"So what are you going to call him?" Charlie smiles down at Ophelia.

"Toby."

"Toby, what a nice name," said Charlie.

"We better be off," said Sherlock as he got up from his seat, "I'll see you later Charlie."

"Aren't you going to eat your ice-cream?" Charlie asks as he held up the Ice-Cream that hasn't touch.

Sherlock smirk, "I don't eat while I'm on a case."

"Well you better come here without a case," Charlie joked, "Anyway it was good to see you again Sherlock."

Sherlock and Ophelia both said their goodbyes to Charlie and walked out of the shop and waited for a cab to stop for them. Sherlock notice a young couple pushing a white stroller, they looked happy as a family. Many times Sherlock wished he could of given the same life to Ophelia, but it was too late.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispers.

Ophelia looks up at Sherlock, "What?"

"I'm sorry I yelled at you the other night. It was really unprofessional... from now on I'll try my best to be a good father to you."

He then felt her little warm hands holding onto his. He looks down and saw Ophelia smiling up at him, "It would be great if you were nicer to me daddy, but I think you're the best daddy ever."

"Ophelia, I yelled at you and call you names… how am I good father?" Sherlock looks at her with confusion.

"You are my hero! You always rescue me from the bad guys."

Sherlock smiles as he knelt down on his knees and press his forehead onto hers, "I rescue you because I care about you."

"I love you daddy," Ophelia whispers as she smiles sweetly.

Sherlock smirks, "I love you too."

**Next Chapter: Moriarity reveal himself to Sherlock with a special treat. **


End file.
